Mariah's Tale
by LdyShayna
Summary: Mariah was the youngest daughter of the teyrn of Highever, and was raised on tales of her family's noble history. When fate conspires to take away the life she thought she was destined for, she must find the strength to survive. And perhaps, to win.
1. Chapter 1

Mariah peeked out the door into the castle hall impatiently, but just as she suspected, it was quite empty. There was no sign of Eria anywhere. Gritting her teeth, she slid the door closed and resumed her pacing. Was it not bad enough that this sparring test, meant to prove her skills after years of hard practice, had been set up against the one sparring partner she had never bested? No, now it seemed she would have to fight it without her swords.

A Cousland did not go dashing through the halls of Castle Highever begging passer-by if anyone had seen her maid or her swords.

She flung herself bodily on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to calm her fluttering stomach. After a few moments of staring at the grey stone, she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds which echoed against the walls of her family's home. Men, horses, and even a few mabari roamed hither and yon training, equipping, and organizing. Despite their hardships in the scant few decades since their last war, her father's vassals were responding quickly their teyrn's call on behalf of Kind Cailan. Of course, this time they would reportedly be fighting off some darkspawn raids, rather than a fighting a desperate rebellion against Orlais and a civil war. This was a chance for Ferelden to fight as one against a monstrous enemy. Surely, a few darkspawn could be easily put down by the combined might of the forces of Ferelden, which might help the morale of a people who had struggled for so long to rebuild their.

Mariah knew her father's inclination was not to send his youngest with his armies, but she was determined to prove herself worthy. She had practiced hard for many years with a zeal that was fueled in no small part by the tales she had heard as a child of the great Rebel Queen Moira and her personal hero, the Warrior Queen Rowan. She would never admit that out loud, of course. Her father would counsel her once again on difference between historic tales and the reality of war. Her mother would, also once again, scold her for impractical daydreaming. Worst of all, her brother would be unable to resist a bit of friendly mockery that such a comparison would inevitably provide. Mariah was well aware that she was no Warrior Queen, but her pride rebelled against letting anyone poke fun at her for how little she measured up.

Today was to be, however, her chance to prove that she was capable of more than being an administrator, politician, and, eventually, wife to some poor hapless arl's son who might be tricked into such a political marriage. It would likely be the weasel faced Thomas, Arl Howe's son. She sighed forlornly and sat up, elbows on her knees. If she could prove she had learned enough from her swordsmanship training that she could lead even a small number of her father's forces, she might have a chance to earn some semblance of recognition before she packed into some frilly, Orlesian inspired dress and set up for display in someone's hall. Perhaps she might finally earn some respect for herself, instead of the reflected glory of the Cousland name. Really, wasn't that the heritage she had learned for so long? She came from a long line or courageous and just warriors; compassionate and strong leaders. Thus had she always and constantly been reminded. They were only one step down from the royal line, and their family history stretched back just as far. She had this chance to show that such a bloodline did not run thinly in her veins.

And there, she was back to thinking about the duel despite her attempts not to. She could hardly win completely unarmed, either. She could smell the stew Nan was cooking for lunch. If she did not reach the sparring circle soon, she would forfeit the match. She heartily doubted that, "My apologies, but I could not find my swords" would be a very impressive excuse. Yes, some Warrior Queen- like impression that would make. She doubted Rowan had ever inconveniently misplaced her sword.

She smacked a gauntleted fist against the foot of the bed and pulled herself to her feet. He rmother had said it was too great an indulgence to have a maid, and Nan had told her that elves could not be trusted to work hard without constant supervision, but Mariah had over-ridden both of their objections and chosen Eria as a personal maid anyway. If cornered, Mariah would admit that most of her reasoning had been based on a rather unseemly amount of willful defiance of being told what NOT to do. However, since then the young elf had given lie to those warnings, and had been both courteous and hard-working without fail. She was also a loyal companion and discrete confidant. Eria was one of the few who knew how important today was to Mariah. She would not dawdle without reason today, of all days, and on such an important errand as fetching Mariah's newly crafted swords. No, something important must be keeping her.

Armed with this convenient excuse, Mariah gave up on useless pacing and headed out into a hall. A brief look both directions confirmed that there was no blue-dressed, red-haired elf in sight, so she set off at a brisk pace towards the armory. Her armored footsteps echoed hollowly against the stone walls as she struggled to walk with a determined and purposeful gait instead of desperate one. She was just able to keep from a completely non-decorous trot. It wouldn't do to be chastised for lack of decorum while scouring the castle for her lost maid and swords, now would it?

Most of the staff hopped out of the way when they saw her coming, and Mariah resisted the impulse to stop and ask every one of them if they seen Eria. It would rather disrupt her determined and purposeful façade, after all. To her relief, she caught sight of Eria's distinctive auburn pony-tail right outside of the armory door. The petite elf was surrounded by three large, armored strangers, hopping and squirming to avoid one set of groping hands only to encounter another. Narrowing her eyes, Mariah finally did break into a run.

"Give us the swords and stop squirming," one of the men said to Eria in a hard voice, "and we won't tell anyone you were trying to steal them."

"No," another chuckled, "I think we would need to talk in private about how wrong it was. Stealing from her betters should require some…compensation after all."

The nasty laugh that followed made the hairs on Mariah's neck stand on end. It also made her voice a little louder than she meant when she responded.

"I'd rather she did not hand the swords over, as they belong to me," she said as she came to a halt before them. "And I'll thank you to take your hands off of her."

Though they were all strangers to her, one of the men's eyes widened in recognition when they turned in her direction. He pulled one companion back, but was not quick enough to catch the other before he snarled, "And who would you be?"

She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up. "I am Mariah Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland, and I do not appreciate being spoken to in that tone within my own castle."

Technically, it was her father's castle, really, but this situation required some heavy handedness if any did. Mariah took some satisfaction when the soldier who had recognized her winced, and the one who had addressed her turned pale and licked his lips nervously in sudden appreciation of his predicament. The third man blurted something Mariah was fairly sure was highly blasphemous, then the man flushed red and fell silent again.

The one who had recognized her gave his companions a quelling look as he stepped forward to address her with a small bow. "We thought we had caught this elf stealing from the armory."

"Yes, I heard that part," she growled in return. She took several steps forward as she did and, as she had hoped, the uncertain men backed away as well, leaving Eria free to take refuge behind Mariah. "I also heard your proposed solution, which was not precisely 'Fetch the magistrate'."

They all looked at each other uncertainly. She nodded towards the insignia on their tabards. "You are Arl Howe's men, correct? Leave now, and I will only report this as a misunderstanding."

Well, he was her father's friend. She was…fairly certain he might listen to her complaint, anyway. Eria made a small sound of protest behind her, so she added, "But if common decency will not stay your hand in the future, know that if you lay a hand on her again, I will have you flogged."

Even the most diplomatic of the group found this too much. "Over a servant?" he demanded. "Over an ELF?"

Mariah clenched her fists at her sides. It was most likely a bluff on her part. She doubted she could get more than a mild reprimand for this, regardless of how vile she felt it was, but that knowledge galled her as much as their behavior, so she squared her shoulders and did her best to use her frustrated anger to channel her father's voice at his most imperious. She stalked up into the man's face. "In what way have I failed to make myself clear?"

The men seemed on the verge of rebellion, and for a moment she wondered if she shouldn't have claimed her swords before pushing them, but after a moment they bowed and beat a hasty retreat. There was what seemed be a sullen exchange of words between them, but they were well out of earshot by that time, and they didn't pause as they disappeared down the hall to the side door. Mariah tried not to sigh too loudly in her relief. An actual fight would have brought her father's guards to defend her fast enough, but she was glad that hadn't been necessary.

Actually, it had probably been that very fact that had made them back down, rather than her own authority. The thought just made her more angry for a moment, then she guiltily recalled that she was not the victim in this circumstance at all.

"Are you alright, Eria?"

There were tears in the elf's eyes, but she seemed just a furious as frightened as she shoved the swords she had been clutching in Mariah's direction. Mariah accepted them, trying to think of something to say as Eria crossed her arms tightly against her chest and bowed her head.

"I could still have them flogged anyway, if you prefer?"

Eria made a coughing sound and covered her face, though Mariah wasn't certain if it was a laugh or a sob. She still said nothing, which was generally a bad sign with Eria, but Mariah could not think of anything more helpful to say. At a loss, she belted her swords on and put a hand on the maid's shoulder.

"Come then. I have another fight on my hands in the courtyard."

Eria bobbed her head again but still refused to make eye contact as she followed Mariah back out to the front hall doors and into the morning air. A crowd was already gathered outside the corral when Mariah approached, which wasn't altogether unexpected. Most were various soldiers of her father's, and a few others were from the troops of lower nobles and landed freemen who supported him, curious at the interruption in their preparations, no doubt. At one end of the fence, a lone robed figure stood. Judging from the buffer of uncomfortable distance between him and the rest of the milling crowd, it would be no other than the Circle representative requested by her father. The mage seemed to withstand the sullen glances directed his way with more grace than he took standing at the muddy end of the horse corral. Mariah wondered if perhaps he was more used to one than the other.

A ripple went through the milling people as they caught sight of her. Several people tapped shoulders, elbowed neighbors and pointed her pointed her out, resulting in more tapping and elbowing.

"Maker's Breath," Mariah said under her breath, "You would think they had never seen a woman in armor before."

"They surely have. See, there's two female soldiers over there by the mage." Mariah looked to the elf beside her in surprise, and Eria managed a wan smile. "Probably it's just you."

Mariah gave her a mock scowl, and sighed dramatically. Shrugging, she forced her chin up and eyes forward as she sought out her quarry. Ser Gilmore separated himself from the crowd and approached her, following closely by her brother, Fergus. Fergus wore his breastplate, buffed to a high shine as always, and glittered in the morning sun as if the Maker himself held a spotlight to the Cousland heir. Ser Gilmore, in contrast, wore something more practical, made of steel reinforced leather, and had only bowed sufficiently to convention to be wearing her father's insignia. The old tabard smelt strongly enough of moth balls that Mariah caught the scent of it as they stopped before her.

"I thought you might have changed your mind, little sister." He grinned easily, as he sauntered up, looking all the world like he DIDN'T have a five foot long slab of a sword strapped to his back. "Or did you merely misplace your swords, perhaps?"

"There is still time before I forfeited," Mariah replied, stung at how close his mockery came to the truth. She winced at the surly petulance she heard in her own voice, and cleared her throat roughly. "Regardless, I am here and I am prepared."

Ser Gilmore stepped forward, stepping just enough in between them to get the attention of them both, before turning to Mariah. "I feel I must remind you once more that this is wholly unnecessary." Despite his words, he didn't seem very hopeful they would make much difference.

He could be a wise man, Ser Gilmore.

Mariah did her best to let not an ounce of doubt show on her face as he searched it for any sign of hesitation. Finally he stifled a sigh. "I didn't think so," he muttered, stalking towards the corral. Fergus met her eyes once the knight's back was turned, and raised his eyebrows as she hesitated. With a dramatic bow, he waved her before him. She shot a look skyward as he immediately fell in step beside her when she started walking, rather than walking behind.

"You can still choose another to fight," he said, his words pitched low enough that the nearby soldiers could not hear.

"I think that would defeat part of the purpose," Mariah responded. "Of course, if YOU wish to forfeit to avoid fighting me, I will oblige you."

He flashed her a brief, annoyed look, though not completely without some amusement. "We will use real swords this time Maria," he said, his tone serious. "Mage healing or no, a wrong step could result in some fairly significant injuries."

"Well, let us DO try not to decapitate each other then." She didn't look behind her as she swung herself over the corral fence. Some muttering and a loud clank, however, let he know that he followed her lead. Of course, he had to. There was no way he would open the gate after she hopped the fence, even if her armor weighed half as much. She grinned to herself over this minor victory.

They walked together to the center of the ring where Ser Gilmore awaited them.

"This is a friendly match," he began, using a bellowing tone that carried far. The murmuring of the crowd around them quieted. "Both combatants have agreed to a non-lethal duel. A combatant loses by yielding, being unable to fight as determined by myself, or touching or crossing the fence."

Mariah peered into the crowd as Ser Gilmore recited the rules of the duel. At some point Eria had wondered away from her, and was now safely ensconced in a small group of servants, both elven and human, which had gathered just outside of the ring of soldiers. Good. She was safe from any strangers with wandering hands, then.

"Mariah Cousland. Do you understand and agree to abide by the rules of this match?"

Mariah snapped her eyes back to Ser Gilmore, whose long-suffering look let her know he had noticed her inattention.

"Yes, ser," she responded briskly.

"Fergus Cousland. Do you understand and agree to abide by the rules of this match?"

"Yes, ser."

Ser Gilmore looked at them both, the thin line of his lips speaking volumes about his disapproval. "Very well." He turned and walked to the gate. Closing it behind him, he turned to face them again and motioned them to opposite ends of the corral. Mariah scuffed her boots on the damp sandy soil. It could be slippery if she wasn't careful, but it was hardly the muddy pit she'd had to fight in last time, for which she was grateful. Once she reached her side, she turned about and drew her swords.

Now across the corral, Fergus pulled the massive sword from his back. It was the first time she had faced him while he was armed with that heavy piece of steel, and her heart start to thump hard in her chest as he raised it before him, at the ready. That was a mighty big sword.

She didn't have time to reconsider, however, before Ser Gilmore spoke once more. "Begin."

A hush fell over the crowd, and for a few moments Mariah could hear little more than her pulse and the distant sound of sea birds. She hesitated to move, eyeing her brother's sword, until he finally stepped forward. If he closed on her while she was so close to the fence, Fergus would fairly easily be able to force her backwards outside of the duel bounds, and she would lose for sure. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Did she expect to lead men into battle if the sight of a great sword sent her cowering? She huffed another breath, and forced her swords into an en garde position. She had training on battling a stronger foe. She knew what approaches to take. She had fought her brother before.

Of course, he had always won against her, despite being only armed with a wooden practice sword.

Mariah snarled at herself in disgust, and forced herself into an attack. Fergus easily blocked with his sword, and countered with a slow swipe she just as easily evaded. They traded blows a couple more times, as she carefully tested his defenses and speed. Was he really so much slower using his real sword? She might actually have a chance, if that was so. She could certainly evade until he tired and she found an opening. Enthusiasm was just starting to bloom when he stepped back and swung his sword easily from one side to another, much faster than he had in any attack against her.

"Mariah, you are fighting like an Orlesian dandy," he said, grinning impishly at her. Howls of amusement rose from the gathered soldiers.

Mariah growled in return. She would teach him to take this seriously.

She went on the offensive, leading with her larger sword, and holding her smaller clear and to her side. After blinking with surprise, he switched his grip on his sword, blocking each of her attacks with first one side and then the other of its massive blade. He was moving quicker now, she noted with satisfaction, even if it was only in order to counter her blows. She paused her attacks, shifting her stance slightly, but Fergus remained on the defensive, refusing to attack. Gritting her teeth, she reversed the grip on her short sword and while he blocked the attack from her larger sword, swung the second at his face.

He flinched, training and instinct pulling his head away from her, but the hilt of her sword still struck with enough force to send him staggering back a few steps. A surprised exclamation erupted from the crowd. Mariah stood her ground, frowning fiercely at him as held one hand to his face, and the crowd's noise turned to rumblings of barely heard commentary. Blood smeared Fergus' nose and gauntlet as he lifted his hand to wave away the approaching Circle mage. He glowered at her, his eyes bright as he waiting for the mage to get clear of the corral again. Were his eyes bright with pain? Fury? She wasn't quite sure. But he took a deep breath and clenched his teeth briefly, rubbing his nose again with the back of his gauntlet before speaking grimly once more.

"Right."

Mariah braced herself as he attacked in earnest. She was back on the defensive again, shifting her weight and moving quickly to evade his attacks, using her second sword to redirect as those that came too close for comfort. Well, they all came to close to comfort to her mind. He moved the sword with surprising speed, redirecting momentum with grace and fluidity. The roaring sounds of the crowd blended into an indistinct background as she focused her full attention on Fergus and her own footing; watching his body language to determine where and when he blows would come, moving about him to avoid them while she also kept on eye on how close she was to the fence. She took an attack when she could, trying to find a way to interrupt his momentum.

Finally, he made a swing was too wide, leaving it too far away from his body to block a blow, but she saw her mistake as soon as she made it. She should have known not every opening was a real one, and that he would bait her into an attack she shouldn't have taken. Her sword made only a glancing blow against his armor, but the lunge with her long sword left her too over-extended. It was too late to avoid the return blow, but she twisted as he pulled his sword into a quick arc, struggling to shift her balance fast enough to pull her left arm out of harm's way. She got her arm moving with his blow instead of against it, but the heavy blade still struck with bone jarring force. She heard her short sword hit the ground as her pain-paralyzed fingers let it slip from her grasp.

Her vision blurred briefly, and she scrambled clear of him, blinking quickly to try to clear the unbidden tears. She risked a glance at her arm. The sword had scarred a deep slash in the middle of her forearm brace, though the reinforced leather had apparently taken the blunt of the blow. Her fingers twitched painfully when she tried to clench her fist, but did little more. She glanced up at Fergus, who remained several feet away at the ready. She refused to risk wiping the unshed tears from her eyes, for fear of missing a follow up attack.

Besides, she was certain that a Cousland would not cry on the battle field.

"Do you yield?" Fergus bellowed. The background roaring of the crowd tapered off in response to his challenge.

She put her aching arm behind her back and turned her side to him, lifting her sword in the single weapon battle stance they had both learned. He noted the change with narrowed eyes.

"I still have a sword," she informed him, and with strength fueled by her pain, proceeded to demonstrate that to him. Though he blocked, she struck his sword with enough force that she felt the impact in her shoulder. His sword actually slipped in his grip, turning sideways against her blade. The blow deflected onward, giving her a chance to keep most of the momentum and turn it into a second, back-handed blow with enough strength in it that it forced him back a few steps to give him a chance to recover his grip.

She kept trying to clench and unclench her fist behind her back, using the pain to spur herself forward, moving her sword as fast as she could to keep him off balance. His broad blade seemed everywhere at once as he struggled to fend off the series of blows, but with every move he was forced to give just a little more ground. She risked a glance over his shoulder, trying to judge the distance to the fence. It only a moment's hesitation on her part, but it was enough. He pulled up his sword at one of her swings, trapping her blade against his cross-guard. They struggled for a moment as their blades locked, but she knew as soon as he got his feet under him that her drive was finished. He heaved her back with all of the strength of his legs and back, and she her feet skidded across the loose sandy soil. She back-pedaled, scrambling to get control of her footing.

She barely got her balance back when, by chance, she saw her fallen short sword. Driven by either inspiration or desperation, she jumped over to it and took the chance to lower her defenses enough to pick it up. Her arm and hand protested the move painfully, but her grip held, and she turned back to Fergus, returning to her two weapon defensive stance.

Either the crowd was really roaring, or the blood in her ears just made it sound that way. Fergus said something she couldn't hear, and came forward, sword high. They traded blows, Mariahs' pain and fear merging into a strange sort of heart-pumping euphoria for a bit. She was tiring, however, and every time she moved to deflect one of her brother's blows with her injured sword arm, a lance of pain shot from her fingers to her shoulder. She tried changing back to the one handed style, but it was awkward, and Fergus did not take long to figure out why she had once again changed her stance. He moved quickly, feinting with the hilt of his sword, then pulling up his sword in a quick strike she reflexively tried to block with her short sword. Another shock of pain finally number her fingers enough that she lost her blade once more. This time, however, Fergus immediately followed up with a powerful blow with the flat of his blade against her chest, pushing her violently backward.

Mariah found herself on her back, breathless, and didn't clear her head fast enough to roll away when Fergus dived at her. His armored knee hit her chest with stunning force, and she felt the rest of the air leave her lungs. Gasping, she planted her hand against the pommel of his blade, twisting it in his grasp, struggling to get control of his blade or at pull it from his grip.

"Off. Me. Great. Oaf," she grunted.

"If you spent more time in the barracks, you would have thought of a much better name than oaf," someone joked from the sidelines to much laughter.

Her long sword was several feet away in the sandy soil. If only she could break free, she could roll towards it, and have a chance. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, though, and her injured arm ached from the strain of trying to pull the sword from Fergus' grasp. It wouldn't be too much longer.

"Maybe you should get off," someone else called, sounding worried.

"You don't know my sister like I do," her brother panted. "She is," he paused and grunted as she tried one last push to get his sword from his grasp. "She is still eyeing her sword."

Instead of pressing with his blade, Fergus suddenly leaned back and put all of his weight on the knee planted on her chest. Her vision grayed around the edges. Then she felt the cold press of steel against her neck.

"Enough," Ser Gilmore called from someplace very far away. "Fergus is the winner."

The weight lifted from her chest immediately. Disbelief and denial flooded in as fast as the air did. She couldn't have lost. It couldn't be over. Not yet.

As she gasped for breath and stared up at the sky, it became fairly clear that it was indeed VERY over, regardless of what she might wish. She closed her eyes. The faint smell of horse manure wafted up from the ground below her, but it still crossed her mind that laying here forever would be preferable to opening her eyes and accepting defeat.

Laying forever in the middle of the horse corral would hardly be fitting of the Cousland honor, though, would it?

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes once more, and lifted her right arm to Fergus. He smiled in wry relief, and pulled her up. She staggered, vertigo threatening to push her right back to the ground again. Her brother's strong arm kept her on her feet, however, and he guided her across the corral to the fence as her vision cleared and her balance returned.

Her heart fell even more as money changed hands around her. They had been betting on the outcome of this fight? This fight? Didn't they realize how important this was to her? Had been. It was over now. Seeing people collecting on bets against her was just…galling. She snapped her teeth together and kept her peace, however. Making a scene would hardly make things better. Cousland honor. Cousland discipline. The whole thing made her sour, regardless.

"Well fought, Fergus," Ser Gilmore said, shaking his hand.

Mariah forced her jaw to unclench. "Ser Gilmore, what did I do wrong? What was my mistake?"

He looked at her, and shook his head. "Your form was fine," he replied. "You merely fought against a stronger and more experience opponent."

Mariah sagged against the fence and studied her boots. It was not the reply she had longed for. A suggestion on where she could improve or what she might do differently next time meant she could make some plans. She could fight harder for next time. But his answer held none of that.

_You really never had a chance._

Fergus cleared his throat, "Really, Mariah, you fought well. You are likely as good a fighter as most men in father's forces."

Most, perhaps, but not all. Not the one she needed so badly to better. She nodded, regardless. "Thank you," she managed.

He stood before her, somewhat awkward, as she resumed studying her boots. Finally he sighed, and patted her shoulder before heading back towards the castle. Mariah struggled not to wince too badly as the brotherly pat sent a wave of pain through her injured arm.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to acknowledge with some dignity the soldiers and servants who came to give her well meaning praise and condolences once her brother left. When they were done, she stayed leaning against the fence as the crowd dispersed and returned to their duties, trying to convince herself that she was certainly NOT pouting.

She didn't succeed at that either.

"Should I fetch the healer?" Eria's voice was hesitant, and as Mariah looked up at her, she glanced with great reluctance towards the Circle mage, who loitered in the courtyard well away from the muddy corral. Likely, if Mariah asked it, Eria could still find some servant lower in the pecking order to actually summon the mage to help her. Mariah imagined this starting a series of requests resulting in some poor scullery lad from the kitchen eventually being sent back out of the castle to fetch the mage to her. She chuckled at the ridiculous picture, gaining her a very concerned look from her elven maid.

Mariah forced herself to take a deep breath. Her chest hurt, but there were no sharp pains to indicate a broken rib, like when she had been thrown from Whirlwind two years ago. She made a fist a few times with her left hand. It still hurt, but she could move it.

"Not necessary," she said briefly, to Eria's great and obvious relief.

"For whatever it's worth," Eria added quietly, "I thought it was brilliant how you used that attack to push him back, and make him think you were trying to push him against the fence so you could go back and get your other sword."

Mariah snorted. "It might have been a brilliant plan, if that was what I was trying to do." She looked wryly at Eria, "I was, however, trying to drive him into the fence. Being pushed back towards my sword was an accident."

Eria winced and blushed. "Oh."

Mariah pushed herself away from the fence. Bending to retrieve her blades caused some mild discomfort, but nothing too serious. She could hold her short sword in her left hand again, as well. She paused, and looked down at the sand covered swords. Part of her want to throw them away from her. What good would they do? Still, she couldn't help feeling that Ser Gilmore was wrong. She HAD made mistakes. If she hadn't made them, then she COULD have beaten Fergus. The more she mulled it over, the more certain she became. She had lost the battle when she had allowed herself to be disarmed the first time and had taken the injury to her arm. If she could have avoided that, she might have won.

She thought back on the battle, and how he had swung his sword in that attack, and set herself as she remembered her stance being. She winced as she lifted her blades. Sighing, she swung her arms gingerly, then lifted them again. Yes, that had been where she held them when he had made the opening. If she had instead attacked like this. No, that would have left her whole right side open to a counter swing. That would have been much worse than her arm. She shifted her footing, and started again. She tried various attacks, and rejected them all. She paused, her swords still held high. Maybe her first instinct had been correct, and she shouldn't have taken the opening at all?

Eria cleared her throat from the edge of the corral. "My lady? Brother Aldous will be waiting and I'll still need to…uh…brush out your hair first."

Mariah gave her a puzzled look, before recalling lying on the sandy mud on her back. Looking around, she noted several soldiers, both familiar and unfamiliar, watching her with curiosity. No doubt she looked fairly odd fighting this ghost of hers in full view. She started to sheath her swords, saw the dirt on them as well, and instead wandered towards the smithy to pick up a cleaning rag. She would take care of her equipment, then take herself to the tutor. Regardless of what she might dream, being taught how to keep the castle household looked like it was going to be more relevant to her future than practicing swordplay.


	2. Chapter 2

Eria alternated between disgusted and frustrated noises while she combed out the dirt Mariah had acquired during the duel. Though the now clean long sword lay on her dressing table in its sheath, Mariah still held the short sword and cleaning cloth in her lap, idly wiping it down and ignoring the tugs and jerks from the comb in her hair. The brushing eventually became smoother, and was then replaced by the more gentle tugs of Eria rebraiding her hair.

"Perhaps you have time for a late lunch before we go?" the elf offered hesitantly as she curled the braid and pinned it up. "You skipped breakfast, didn't you?"

Mariah grunted, shrugging her shoulders. "Thank you, no. I am…not hungry."

From the noise she made, Eria didn't apparently believe her, but she didn't say anything as she finished pinning up the other braid and wandered over to the wardrobe. Mariah laid the short sword and the cloth aside on her bed. Her arm ached again at the simple movement, so she gingerly untied the bracer and pulled her gauntlet off. A blue and purple stripe ran diagonally across her arm, fading to lighter blue and brown tendrils near her wrist and elbow. Well, that would take quite a while to heal without magical aid. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss the mage's spells.

The familiar clicking sound of claws on stone brought her away from brooding over her arm. A heavy jowled mabari head peaked into the door, short ears perked. When she waved him in, he easily pushed the heavy door aside, and bobbed tail wagging and tongue lolling. As he looked at her though, the tail slowed, and his ears lowered. He closed his mouth and tilted his head to one side, whining inquisitively.

"Yes, Rabbit, I'm afraid I lost," Mariah told him. "No grand adventures for us. Disappointing choice you made, eh, picking me as a mistress?"

He huffed mightily, and made a grumbling noise deep in his chest. Head down, he walking the remaining distance between them and sat heavily near her legs. Even sitting, his head was well above her knees, but he deigned to slouch down so that he could put his massive head on her leg. Then he looked up at her with large, sad eyes that he generally saved for times when he knew fresh venison steak was in the larder…or when he thought she was being melodramatic. Well, he never SAID as much of course, as he couldn't speak, but he sure seemed to have that, "I'm SO sorry you're dying" look in his eyes during those times.

Since she hadn't heard of a recent influx of venison, she was fairly certain she knew which way to take the look he was giving her now.

"Well, look," she said, showing him her arm. "At least you can feel sorry for me over this, can't you?"

His ears perked, and he sniffed her bruised arm curiously for a few moments. Then he snorted. Eria, however, had a much more dramatic reaction. Her slanted eyes rounded, and she clutched the dress she had chosen for Mariah to her chest.

"Do you want me to send for the mage?" she said, this time with very little reluctance. Despite the fact that Eria's words echoed her own thoughts, Mariah shook her head. The thought of the magical knitting made her flesh crawl. Besides, she deserved a couple of days of pain after her performance in the corral.

Eria sighed, then held the dress out in front her of her with a frown. "Oh, you think your chest is bruised like that too?"

The deep blue dress was one of Mariah's favorites; it was thoughtful of Eria to have chosen it. It was handsome yet understated, without the pounds of lace and layers of frills that so many of the recent imports from Orlais sported. It also had a deep, scooping neckline.

"Well," Mariah responded, "at least the color would match the bruising well. "

Eria clucked at her with disapproval and started to reply, but a hesitant knock on the half open door interrupted her. A young page stood nervously at the door. He was a recent arrival, obviously not used to dealing with nobility, and kept shifting from one foot to the other whenever he addressed Mariah as if he was deciding which way to run. Indeed, he did that now as soon as she looked at him. Mariah was still trying to remember his name when he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Your father bids you join him in the main hall." His words tumbled out of him, and he barely waited for her acknowledgement and thanks before finally choosing a direction to run and dashing away.

"I think you frighten him," Eria commented with amusement.

"Me?" Mariah gave her a hurt look. "I'm not frightening. Rabbit, do I frighten people?"

The mabari opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue, his teeth bared in a grin.

"Well, I shall try not to be so much of an ogre, I suppose." She stood, and looked at the dress Eria still held. "I'll need to go ahead and just wear my armor. It seems father has already learned of…." Her shoulders slumped and she let the sentence drop off. It was time, already. She looked grimly down at her new short sword, indecisive for a moment. She picked it up, retrieved its sheath, and held it out to Eria as the elf turned back from putting away the dress. Her eyes widened as she looked down at the sheathed weapon.

"I can't."

"Of course you can. You need something to defend yourself, and I already have one sword that seems it will be little more than expensive decoration. Here. Take it. Hide it on your person. I'll tell father I gave it to you, so you won't get in trouble. Just…try not to go about stabbing ALL of the soldiers with it. That's all I ask."

Eria choked out a laugh, and took the short sword hesitantly. "Are you sure you won't need it?"

"At this point? Hardly. One sword will be plenty for carrying around to make me seem impressive. Look." Mariah walked over to a weapon display on her wall, and pulled down the old but still serviceable shield that hung there. "I'll carry this instead. It might spare me another blow to my arm, anyway." She grinned encouraging, and Eria smiled hesitantly in return. "Please take it. It will make me feel like…."

Like what? She had accomplished something today? _Look father, I gave away some of my things. Aren't you impressed?_

Mariah turned and busied herself attaching the longer sword to her belt. "It will make me feel better, alright?"

"Thank you."

"Yes, well, you find someplace to stow it away," she said, turning towards the door. "I'll go to meet father."

Eria nodded, and was still staring down at the sword with an unreadable expression on her face when Mariah turned to leave. She had only gone a few steps out into the hall before she turned again, and addressed the war dog that had followed her out the door.

"Rabbit, I'm certain you have more interesting things to do than watch this."

Rabbit tilted his head at her inquisitively. Wrinkling his nose, he huffed, irritated, and trotted away.

She waited until he was well away before continuing on her way to the main hall. To her surprise, her father was not alone when she arrived. Arl Howe had arrived it seemed, and the two did what they always did when they first were together after a long time apart. The reminiscing over the old days had a darker turn than normal, however, as they discussed the darkspawn raids in the south. Mariah dithered in the archway, not particularly eager to have an audience for what she suspected was coming. Glancing about the main hall, she caught sight of the men who had assaulted Eria earlier. They were acting as Arl Howe's personal bodyguard. She would have thought the arl had a better sense of people than to keep such men so close, but it was little wonder the cads had been so bold. Perhaps she should go back on her deal, and tell the arl what had happened. Such men were not trustworthy people to have guarding your back. No, she would mention it to father. He would be able to address the issue with his friend in a more discrete manner.

"I'm sorry, pup; I didn't see you there," her father said, waving her in. Mariah had to force her reluctant feet to move, but hopefully she was able to pretend to calm confidence, anyway. "Howe, you remember my daughter?"

"I see she's become a lovely young woman. Pleased to see you again, my dear."

"And you, Arl Howe," Mariah responded, bowing slightly. Hiding behind formal pleasantries was familiar, and allowed her to try to get her wits about her at the unexpected audience.

"My son Thomas asked after you," Arl Howe continued. " Perhaps I should bring him with me next time."

Maker forfend. "I'd like that," she lied.

"Good! My son's rather fascinated with stories of your prowess as a warrior. I daresay he'd like to test it first-hand."

Long years of practice kept her face smooth, and she forced herself to smile as pleasantly as she could. What was the boy? Fifteen? No, seventeen, now. Based on past behavior, she was certain he would like to try his hand at her in some fashion, though as far as she knew his swordsmanship was little better than his manners. Regardless, she needed to be polite. As the son of her father's best friend and of a powerful local arl, Thomas was a strong contender to be her husband some day, especially now. A great deal of ruthless self-control was required for her to keep a sigh from escaping.

"At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

Well, there it was; simple and straight-forward. At least she was spared any comment on the duel. He watched her, and though his tone had been relaxed, she saw the tell-tale worry lines appear at his eyes as she hesitated in her response.

She bowed briefly. "I'll do my best, Father."

His smile was genuine as he clasped her shoulder. "Now that's what I like to hear." He held her shoulder firmly, eyes intent as he continued. "Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep the peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

There were few enough bandits in the region anymore. Her father, his arls and his banns had done well in keeping them down in the last few years, a great triumph after the chaos of the last war. Regardless, she understood the message well enough. Some banns might try to use his absence to attempt to get away with more than they normally might. She couldn't show her house as weak while he was gone. This was not an empty gesture. She tried to squelch her disappointment, and remember that being appointed steward was an honor. He smiled at her proudly, and nodded. His eyes turned from intent to mischievous in the blink of an eye, however, and Mariah barely had time to be suspicious before her father continued.

"There's also someone you must meet." He turned to the guards at the door and raised his voice to be heard. "Please…show Duncan in."

Mariah turned towards the door in surprise. There might be many Duncan's wandering about Ferelden, but there was only one she knew of that would likely gain entrance to her father's house and be introduced with no title, though she had never had the chance to meet him in person. The leader of the was still in Highever? She glanced over at her father, and he gave her an amused glance before his face returned to a dignified and patient attentiveness. He knew full well that she had sought out several books on the order, and read up on them out of sheer curiosity. Their history, especially in Ferelden, was fascinating and mysterious, what with their sudden banishment centuries ago and then equally sudden reinstatement by King Maric, Maker rest his soul, when Mariah was very young made for engrossing tales and lively gossip. She had also often asked if she might not meet Duncan at some official event, to try to get some truth to the many stories she'd heard. Just last month, however, she had been sent to inspect fishing ships – FISHING SHIPS – rather than be allowed to attend a tournament held in Duncan's honor. And now her father had arranged this. Her ranting must have had some effect after all.

It was said that a single Warden was the equal of ten men on the battlefield, and Duncan certainly looked capable as he strode confidently into the hall. His armor was dusty from travel, however, and he seemed a tad shorter than the ten feet tall some rumors had described him as.

Not that she had ever believed those particular rumors, of course.

She wondered with some concern if he had been present at her duel earlier. Hopefully not. That would have made a poor first impression, surely. She tried to push that concern aside and, despite her desire to start pelting the man with questions, she held herself to merely watching him with curiosity as he approached her father. He made very proper bow, unsurprising since he had spent so much time in the royal court over the last two decades. "It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland," Duncan said smoothly.

Arl Howe frowned, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

Her father turned to Howe and raised his eyebrows in surprise at his friend. "Duncan arrived at the castle just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?"

Howe smiled wanly. "Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands a certain protocol. I am…at a disadvantage."

The arl looked positively pale, which puzzled Mariah. Yes, there were some protocols to having such a guest, but they were hardly onerous. It wasn't as if he would be expected to start handing over expensive gifts, or give up his guest room to go sleep in the stables. Perhaps he wasn't a fan of the order? Some people WERE still nervous that they had been reinstated after so many centuries of exile, but she wasn't aware that the arl was among those. Curious.

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true," her father continued. Then he turned to her. "Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

Mariah dropped her inspection of Howe and looked at her father dryly. To indulge her curiosity and give her a pleasant surprise would have been at least part of the reason that Duncan had not been announced the moment he had gotten close to Highever. If father wanted to play this type of game, however, she was up to it. She rolled her eyes dramatically at the ceiling and looked thoughtful for a moment, as if dredging up some half-forgotten lesson from long ago. Some smart alec responses occurred to her, but their guest deserved better, and she decided the short and simple route was best.

"They defeated the darkspawn long ago," she said, which was true enough.

"Not permanently, I fear," Duncan responded. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, slightly embarrassed at her choice of words. If they had been completely defeated, then there wouldn't be any attacking southern Ferelden now, of course. She hoped it hadn't come off as any sort of accusation.

"Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we'd had a chance to react." Mariah nodded at her father, relieved. That was expertly smoothed over. "Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

Mariah looked at her father in surprise. Ser Gilmore had a very good reputation, and had taught many of father's people swordsmanship, including herself. He was her brother's best friend. He would also the leader of the guards her father would be leaving under Mariah's care while she was steward of the castle. While having him recruited into the Warden's would be an honor, it would also leave her without a trusted knight to aid her. Mariah bit her lip thoughtfully, running through the names and abilities of the other knights that would likely stay behind as to who might take his place if that happened. Though father likely had an idea or two on that account, it might be one of her first decisions while he was away, and she wanted to have some names to offer.

"If I might be so bold," Duncan said after a moment's hesitation, "I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate."

Her father's reaction was immediate. He stepped between the two of them, his tone even, but his body language defensive and challenging.

"Honor though that might be, this is my daughter we're talking about." His voice held barely restrained alarm.

Mariah was stunned. All she could think of at first was that it was quite apparent that Duncan probably HADN'T seen the duel, though that seemed to be a rather ludicrous thing to be relieved about. She had to wonder what kinds of tall tales had been circulating on her prowess to fool Duncan into thinking she could make a good recruit. Weren't Grey Wardens recruited from the best and most experienced warriors? She blinked, and realized both her father and Duncan were looking at her expectantly. She snapped her mouth closed when she realized it had been hanging open. What was she to say to this? She was fascinated with the order, and excited by Duncan's visit, but her studies told her that those who entered the Grey Wardens had to abandon all family ties. Give up the Cousland name? Never.

"I'm honored that you think so, ser, but I've no interest in becoming a Grey Warden," she replied as firmly and respectfully as she could manage.

Her father gave her a relieved smile, then turned to the Grey Warden. "Do you hear that, Duncan? My daughter is not interested. So unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription…?"

That hadn't occurred to her. Technically, Duncan had the right to take even a teyrn's daughter, if he so chose. Her stomach tightened in sudden concern.

"Have no fear." Duncan looked at her with mild disappointment, but still offered a reassuring smile. "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

He was actually disappointed at her refusal. Why did she feel guilty? She fancied herself skilled enough with the blade, but hardly the experienced warrior that such an order would seek.

"Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

Now that her alarm had past, her enthusiasm and curiosity returned full force. Duncan would be staying in the castle. She would have a chance to ask her questions and get to know an actual Grey Warden! Staying behind apparently would have SOME advantages. She found herself bouncing up on her toes in barely restrained enthusiasm.

"Of course," she responded immediately, offering Duncan a friendly smile. Hopefully she would be able to make up for this initial awkwardness in the coming days.

"In the mean time, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

Her face fell. After springing this sort of surprise for her, he was sending her away? "But I'd like to stay and talk to Duncan."

Her father's eyes crinkled in pleased amusement. "You'll have plenty of time after we're gone." He turned serious, however, as he motioned to the other two men. "We must discuss the battle plans in the south. Be a good lass and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

She bowed to her father, turned to give another bow to Duncan, and then gave a final, shallower one to Arl Howe. It occurred to her briefly as she left that she had forgotten to bring up the behavior of the arl's men with her father. Well, there would be plenty of time later, and there were more important things to attend to now.


	3. Chapter 3

Her bed was rumbling. It was an odd sensation, and it was only when Rabbit hopped off of her bed that the source of the feeling sunk in to her sleeping mind. Rabbit was growling. She pulled her head off her pillow and watched the mabari blurrily. Had more of those great rats somehow made it into the castle? Nan would be up in arms with a butcher knife if they got into her larder again.

As she watched the mabari tensely stalk towards the door, however, the vague unease that had haunted her last evening as she had said her good-byes to Fergus came back in full force. Stomach suddenly tense, she slid out of bed. The throw rug was coarse and cool under her feet, and she shivered against the cool early morning air as she left her blankets behind. The fire had long ago died to embers, so it must be very early in the morning. She padded across the floor, intent on checking the hall, but Rabbit bristled and moved between her and the door, his low warning growl growing in volume as his lips pulled back from his teeth.

Goosebumps unrelated to the chill morning air prickled down Mariah's body as she turned towards where she had set her armor. Her hands shook from nervous urgency as she pulled on her boots and cuirass, struggling in the dark with the buckles and straps. Rabbit's growls grew louder and louder, and he kept glancing back at her urgently, but she didn't have time enough to finish fumbling with the last of the adjustment before someone screamed and starting pounding on the door, prompting the mabari to begin barking furiously.

She grabbed her sword and shield from the dressing table, and pulled open the door. Eria stood before her, eyes wide with terror, and Mariah's bloody short sword held tightly in her hands.

"There are soldiers!" she gasped, panic choking her voice. "All over the castle! Help me! Help…."

Eria suddenly arched her back and lurched forward, falling heavily into Mariah's arms. Mariah stared with shocked disbelief at the shaft of an arrow that impaled the elf's back, and a growing red stain on her tan shirt. Eria slid limply from Mariah's numb grasp, the short sword clattering loudly against the stone floor as she fell. Mariah was still staring at Eria's sightless eyes , her mind struggling to grasp what had just happened, when Rabbit vaulted over the elf's still body with a snarl. He bounded across the hall, leaping at an armored stranger who stood there. Another soldier emerged into Mariah's vision from the wall to her right, charging her dog with sword raised. Charging her dog. Killing Eria.

She yelled in wordless fury and pain, and ran at the soldier. He turned towards her in surprise, raising his shield to fend off her sword, but she caught his shoulder with a blow from her shield instead. Her armor twisted and shifted, the loose straps giving uncomfortably as she turned with the blow and brought her sword in a back handed arc against the staggered man's chest. He lost his balance, his arms wide as he fell backward against one of the waiting benches in the hall. He had time to give her a terrified look before she brought her sword with all her strength against his exposed throat.

Rabbit yelped, and Mariah turned away from the dead man, her jaw clenched against nausea. The other man had dropped his bow, and now struggled to defend himself against the furious war hound with a short sword, though his left arm already hung limp. Mariah braced herself, then charged with her shield high. The distracted man, completely unprepared for her attack, fell heavily to the floor, and Rabbit followed him down, his massive jaws crunching through armor and muscle and bone until the man stopped struggling.

Mariah looked at the two dead men, gasping for breath. They wore Arl Howe's colors! She tried to wrap her mind around the attack. Why would they attack? Was this some sort of revenge for the confrontation in the hall over poor Eria? But, these were different men, she was sure.

A loud crash from down the hall brought her attention to the end where her parents' door still held closed. Two more soldiers were using a bench to try to ram the door open. Something must have finally caught their attention, for the both had paused in their attempts to destroy the door to look back in their direction. The bench fell heavily to the floor as the two scrambled to pull their weapons. One squared his shoulders and bellowed.

"Where is the teyrn?! Hand over the teyrn!"

They were after her father! Everything came together with horrible clarity. She snarled and growled as loud as Rabbit did, and they both leapt to the attack at the same time.

The enemy soldiers seemed taken aback for a few seconds, but then charged forward to meet them. Mariah caught the first attack with her shield, wincing as the aching pain in her injured arm finally broke through whatever numbing effect her surprise and anger had supplied. Her armor was still loose, and shifted as she pulled back her sword to attack; a minor but still dangerous distraction as it drained the strength and surety of her blows. Behind the man, Rabbit jumped and snapped, turning first one way to avoid the blows of the other soldier, and then twisting around again to snap at the man Mariah battled. The man was a fool. Though he glanced occasionally behind him to keep an eye on the mabari, he focused on Mariah. Perhaps he didn't know what a mabari's jaws could do? Mariah pulled her shield back, leaving herself briefly exposed, and the man took the bait. He stepped back, raising his sword for a powerful blow, but leaving his leg clear for Rabbit to strike. The hound's jaws clamped around the man's knee. He screamed as his leg collapsed out from under him. Rabbit released his leg and bore down on him, pull him from her sight, but Mariah was already lunging towards the other soldier, taking advantage of the man's surprise and driving the man away Rabbit and his companion with a quick succession of blows. They had little weight behind them, but he still shied away from the blade, his eyes flicking between it and the mabari savaging his partner. His distraction was lethal, as she finally put some weight behind one of her swings, and he was completely unprepared for it.

Rabbit came to her side, licking blood from his jaws. He suffered her to examine him for wounds, but he seemed to have little more than a few scratches. Then she remembered the dead soldiers' words, and knocked on the door with the hilt of her sword in desperation. "Mother?! Father?! Are you there? Are you alright?! Please answer me!"

She nearly sobbed with relief when a loud scraping sound echoed from the other side of the door; some large piece of furniture being moved away. Her mother yanked the door open, her face fierce and then falling to worry.

"Darling! I heard fighting outside and feared the worst! Are you hurt?"

Mariah leaned heavily against the wall, shaking her head. Mother was dressed in her old armor, the one from the war that she had displayed in a place of honor next to her father's in their room. She should have known. "I was about to ask you that!"

"They never got through the door, thanks to you," she said, reaching out and squeezing Mariah's arm affectionately. "A scream woke me up. There were men in the hall, so I barred the door. Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men! Why would they attack us?!"

Mariah looked down at the dead man grimly, anger returning. "He's betrayed father! He attacks while our troops are gone!"

"You don't think Howe's men were delayed…on purpose?" Mariah looked up and met her mother's confused eyes, nodding fiercely. Her mother's confusion immediately melted into fury. "That bastard! I'll cut his lying throat myself!" She looked around, worried once more. "Have you seen your father? He never came to bed!"

Mariah's heart seized in her chest. "No, I haven't. I was in my room."

"We must find him!"

Mariah motioned down the hall. "We should check on Oriana and Oren, as well." Oriana was not Ferelden nobility, and had always disdained the martial training of both mother and Mariah with delicate politeness. With her brother gone, her sister-in-law and nephew would have no one to defend them once the enemy got this far into the castle.

She could tell her mother's thoughts had run along the same lines. "Andraste's mercy! What if the soldiers went into your brother's room first? Let's check on them! Quickly! Then we'll look for Bryce downstairs!"

She disappeared briefly into her room, and appeared a few moments later with a large, well oiled bow; another relic from her time fighting at father's side in the Rebellion against Orlais, no doubt. The hall was quiet as they dashed back down towards her brother's suite, but this filled Mariah's heart with fear instead of relief. The smell of blood and fear lingered in the room, as she passed through the open door. Oriana lay across the floor, stretching even in death to reach her son. Oren. Poor little Oren barely ten years old, lay curled in a ball just out of her reach. Mariah sheathed her sword as tears filled her eyes. She didn't need to get any closer to know they both were dead.

Her mother followed just a few steps after, and nearly rammed into Mariah's back. She gasped, her fist at her mouth, then took a few steps back and wailed. "No! My little Oren!" She paused, hand over her mouth and eyes closed, before turning to Mariah, her eyes bright with tears and her voice strained with outrage. "What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!"

Mariah shook her head in dismay and denial. "I don't know. I don't understand. To go after father, and our siliders I understand but…. Why? Why would they do this?!"

Voice cracking, her mother look back at the two forms. "Howe is not even taking hostages! He means to kill all of us!" Gried filled her voice again. "Oh, poor Fergus…let's go. I don't want to see this!"

Mariah hesitated at the doorway as her mother left the room. This couldn't be happening. She had just last night been ruffling Oren's hair and whispering promises to teach him to use a sword while his father was away. With sudden clarity, she remembered the last words she had heard from her brother to his son before she had retired to bed and he had left with the bulk of father's troops.

_You'll get to see a sword up close real soon, I promise._

A choked, manic laughter escaped her, before she could smother it, horrified. She put her hand over her face and staggered out of the room, only stopping once she reached the wall on the other side of the hall. After a moment, a firm weight settled against her side, and she looked down to see a worried Rabbit gazing up at her. She looked up at her mother, who looked back with pained sympathy. There was no accusation there for the laughter that had escaped Mariah's lips, only a horrifying understanding.

What had her parents been through during the war with Orlais? She only now thought she might have some clue.

"We must find your father," she repeated, slowly and clearly.

Mariah nodded weakly. She looked down at Rabbit, and patted his head, pulling herself away from his reassuring pressure to stand on her own feet. She tightened the straps of her armor, settling it into place firmly. Finally, she pulled her sword, and nodded at her mother more fiercely. She was ready.

Together, they entered the main halls of the castle. The sounds of clanging metal and screams now echoed against the stones. Her family guards lay dead in the hall; familiar faces whose names she was ashamed to not recall. Even as they dashed down towards the central hallway, her mother pulled her to a stop.

"Can you hear the fighting? Howe's men must be everywhere."

Mariah shook her head, trying to clear it. All of the defensive drills she had run with the guards had assumed a siege, not warriors already filling the halls through treachery. "What should we do?"

Her mother peered around the corner, and tilted her head in both directions before answering. "The front gates. That's where your father must be."

Mariah shook her head, looking down at the bodies of those who had given their lives to give her time to don her armor. "Is there nothing else we can do?"

Her mother looked back, her eyes unfocused as she bit her lip in thought. "I have my treasury key. We could go there first and take the Cousland sword from the vault." She focused her eyes on Mariah, gaining enthusiasm for the idea as she spoke. "If anything is worth fighting to keep out of Howe's hands, it's that sword, but it may be a dangerous path."

"Then let's go to the treasury. We can claim it, and then find father as soon as we can afterwards."

Her mother looked both ways once more, and walked back towards Mariah with determination in her eyes. "If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle. We must use the servants' entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

"We don't know that's true! He might have depended on a surprise attack from inside to take everyone unawares. Surely his entire army would not be willing to be a part of…" She paused unable to find the words for what was happening. She gestured around her futilely. "A part of all this! If we meet father at the front gates, we might be able to beat back the forces he has dedicated to this, and regain our castle!"

Her mother looked doubtful, a look that made Mariah's heart ache. It must have shown on her face, however, because her mother nodded. "Then let's find out for ourselves." She looked at Mariah firmly, though, as she finished. "If Howe's trap has snapped shut, however, escaping may not be easy."

With that grim pronouncement, she motioned down the hall towards the treasury. Mother was a determined woman, and not one for pessimism in the face of challenges. If she said things were grim, then Mariah best brace herself for a real fight.

They rallied what loyal guardsmen and knights they could find, but for every loyal man they stumbled across, the found five of Howe's men. Their soldiers fought bravely. They died desperately. But Howe's men died as well. This coup attempt would cost that viper dearly. The soldiers weren't the only deaths. Everywhere they looked, they found victims of the assault; many unarmed and helpless. Her tutor Aldous, a kindly, gentle old curmudgeon given much to afternoon naps, was slaughtered among his beloved books. Servants like her poor friend Eria had been cut down where they stood. One or two survived to flee, but Maker only knew if they made it to anywhere safe. It was carnage around every turn and in every room. Men she had chastised only yesterday afternoon for playing cards on duty while guarding the treasure lay dead with those same cards, bloodied, all over the floor. They had died fighting, at least.

"Good. They haven't reached here yet," determination shone in her arms despite her shaking hands. The lock feel free with a solid clanking noise, and the heavy door groaned with disuse as she opened it. "Quickly, fetch the sword. I will keep watch with Rabbit."

Mariah nodded, and dashed into the room, glancing around the accumulated treasures of her house desperately. There were many things she would love to take, but they didn't have time to fill a wagon. She found the trunk with the sword, and knelt before it quickly. The ancient sword lay suspended on a pile of banners, mute testimonies to those vanquished while it had been wielded. She pulled it from its aging sheath. Despite what the years had done to the sheath, the sword itself had been forged with runes that kept it as sharp and strong as the day it had left the smithy. Family legends said it dated back to the days before Ferelden had been united, and all times that a Cousland took the field wielding it, they had been victorious.

She held it up, wishing the legends would give her more comfort than they did. Belting the sheath to her other side, and she also took a moment to exchange the worn shield she had salvaged from her wall for a sturdy steel shield that proudly displayed her family crest. She looked around once more, but she didn't think there was anything else she could reasonably take with her.

Her mother noted the aged sheath as she emerged, nodded, and closed the treasury door behind her daughter, locking it securely once more. They retraced their steps, moving quickly through the blood filled halls. Mariah wondered, assuming she survived, if she would ever be able to walk them again with memories of this dreadful night in her mind. Would she be able to sleep in her own home without nightmares ever again?

They reached the front hall, only to find a dreadful melee before the front gates. She hesitated in the doorway, scanning the chaotic crowd. Ser Gilmore was there along with what had to be the bulk of her father's remaining knights. She couldn't find her father, however. Where was he?

A burst of wind and ice hissed through the air into the milling combatants, settling on one of her family's knights. He cried out with pain as the ice congealed out of the very air on his exposed skin, drawing the living heat from his body. He staggered back, and two of Howe's soldiers took advantage of his pain to strike him down. Mariah grimaced, and traced the line of frost still shimmering in the air to the stairs at the front entrance. There she was, surrounded by supporting archers. Howe had brought a mage. Had he convinced the Circle to aid him? No, she wore Howe's colors, not those of a Circle mage on the job.

"Rabbit, the archers," she commanded, pointing at the entryway. He snarled and leapt obey her command. "For the Couslands!" she cried, and charged through the hall behind the mabari. Rabbit trampled one man wearing Howe's soliders, leaping up, barreling him over, and then leaping away before the man even knew he was there. Mariah knocked aside the one other soldier who seemed to take notice of their passing, smacking him against the stone walls so hard her new steel shield rang with the impact. She didn't wait to see if he recovered, however, but kept her eyes on the mage as the robed woman raised her staff to cast another spell. The mage saw her coming, fire was building around her hands, but her voice faltered on the words of her spell as she looked at Mariah with ever widening eyes. Mariah jumped the steps and smacked the woman's arms with her shield, and the flames disappeared. She pulled back and followed the attack with her sword. The mage tried to dodge, but the preternaturally sharp blade sliced through her robes as if they weren't there and bit deeply into her side. She staggered back with a cry of anguish.

Mariah raised her sword to give a killing blow, but some sound or instinct caused her to look to her side and raise her shield in time to block the arrow from one of the mage's protectors. To her side, Rabbit was still busy with another two archers, who had abandoned their bows for their short swords. He evaded their blows so far, but they kept his attention fully. He would not be able to help. She glared at the bleeding mage, and turned on archer. His eyes widened, and he backed a few steps, dropping his bow and grasping for his short sword as she dashed the few steps across the entry way to engage him. She blocked his initial blow with her shield, and he dodged away from her counter strike. They traded some blows, but she had been running up and down these steps since she had been old enough to chase the chickens in the courtyard. She knew where to place her feet, and she knew exactly where the loose flagstone on the far edge was hiding. Howe's man, of course, did not. When Mariah had found it, it had given her a twisted ankle. Howe's man lost his life to it.

The cool morning air suddenly turned bitingly cold. Alarmed, Mariah turned. The mage was somehow back on her feet, her bleeding side ignored as she raised her staff, ice swirling about her hands as the spell built up strength. Frost glittered on Mariah's sword and shield already. She wouldn't get to the mage in time to interrupt the spell. Then the mage's words stopped. The staff clattered down the steps as she grasped the arrow at her throat, all the world looking more surprised than in pain as she collapsed.

Mariah looked across the hall in time to meet her mother's steely gaze. She nodded grimly as she nocked another arrow, edging along the wall at the edge of the melee and scanning the room for a new target. A cry from across the stairs let her know that Rabbit had defeated both archers, but her father's knights were scattered across the room, divided in their own desperate one on one struggles for life. With a gesture, she sent Rabbit to her mother's side.

"Knights of Highever! To me! To me!" she bellowed in her best commander's voice.

Ser Gilmore was the first to see her, and his eyes widened when we recognized what he was seeing. He looked from her to the man she was fighting several times before breaking away and running towards her, taking up her call.

"Knights of Highever! Rally here! For your lady!"

He gave her an unreadable look, and turned to re-engage the man who had followed him across the room. Mariah took to the step beside him, protecting his back. The realization that she fought on the steps flowed like a wave across the hall, and enemy and ally alike reacted to it. The scattered flow of battle poured towards the front steps, as her family's knights struggled to form up a line around her even as Howe's troops pushed to get past them. None seem to notice her lady mother, picking off stragglers from afar with Rabbit guarding at her side.

Once they won the stairs, however, the tide of battle changed again. Her men were fighting side by side, covering each other as well as themselves, and moving in well trained unison of purpose now that they had gathered. As one man fell, the circle closed a little more, and Mariah found herself pushed back as the knights forced themselves between her and her enemies. Then the last of Howe's men in the hall was down.

A tense moment of silence was ended when a pounding sound echoed through the halls, and the huge gate in the front of the hall shuddered. Ser Gilmore looked around, and gestured towards the massive doors. "Go! Man the gate!" he said to the few remaining Highever warriors. "Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

They moved away from her, the injured and the hale alike. The strongest braced themselves against the door, while others looked for furniture to barricade it with. Ser Gilmore beckoned to Mariah, and led her to where her mother and Rabbit waited.

"Your ladyship! My lady! You're both alive!" Despite the situation, Ser Gilmore's voice was bright with relief. "I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"They DID get though," she assured him.

"They killed Oriana, and Oren," her mother added. "I can't believe," she paused as Ser Gilmore's face turned pale. "Are you injured?"

Ser Gilmore shook himself, and winced. "Don't worry about me, your Ladyship." He looked between both of them once more. "Thank the Maker you two are unharmed. When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates." He looked to the front of the hall, were the bangs against the main doors had become more powerful and regular. Those bracing the door shuddered and had to regain their footing with every blow. Gilmore shook his head. "But they won't keep Howe's men out long!"

Mariah grabbed his arm. "We need to find father. Have you seen him? Do you know where he is? We hoped to find him here."

He put his hand over hers. "When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded. I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen," Gilmore motioned towards the exit on the other side of the hall from where she and her mother had entered. "I believe he thought to find you at the servants' exit in the larder."

Another boom reverberated through the hall, and he looked towards them with worry. "You should go meet him. Quickly."

Mariah saw her mother's lips thin, and she grabbed Ser Gilmore's shoulder and squeezed once, despite the armor. Mariah looked from Gilmore to the men at the front of the hall and back again, realization dawning. "No!"

He smiled briefly, and gently removed her hand from his arm. "You are a good swordsman. It was an honor to train you, and an honor to serve the Couslands, my lady." He stepped back, and bowed briefly to them both. Her mother put her hand on Mariah's chest, pushing her back a step to stop her protests.

"Bless you Ser Gilmore," she said to him. "Maker watch over you!"

He looked behind him, and then turned back bleakly. "Maker watch over us all." Then he turned and trotted away from them, calling encouragement and direction to the men barricading the doors.

"Quickly, darling, we must get to your father." She pulled her arm gently, though Rabbit had positioned himself against the back of her legs and forced her to get moving.

"But, if that is the bulk of Howe's forces, when they break through…" Mariah's voice faded as she looked into her mother's eyes.

"Take another look at them, Mariah darling. If the castle is surrounded, as I fear, then they cannot survive until morning. But now they have hope that they can succeed; that their death will have meaning."

"But…"

"Listen to me," she said, taking a firmer grip of her arm and dragging her away from the hall. "If we stay, we will die with them. If they come with us, then we merely make a stand to the death somewhere else. They give their lives to buy us time to escape. We must make the best of every second of their sacrifice, so we will live to gain justice for this treachery."

Mariah shook her head, but she could find no logic to back the denial her heart raised. So many men dead. So many innocent people dead. For her? For so long, she had focused on the burden of what it meant to be a Cousland, but always it had been her personal requirements to honor and duty. She had known she had responsibilities for the lives of the people she would govern. For the first time, she realized their deaths were hers as well.

She still struggled with this when they finally entered the larder. Her father was there, but he lay on the stone floor, his arms clasped around his side. Her mother recovered before she could.

"Bryce! Maker's blood, what's happening?" She dashed across the room as she called him and knelt at his side. Then she pulled back, her hand covered in red. "You're bleeding!"

Her father nodded weakly. "Howe's men," he gasped, "found me first. Almost…did me in right there."

That finally shocked Mariah into moving, and she hurried over to kneel beside her mother. To her horror, she saw a spreading pool of blood trickling over the stones under her father.

"Why is Howe doing this?!" He had been her father's FRIEND.

Her father shook his head. "He can't get away with this," he panted. "The king will…." He stopped, groaning as he curled over the wound in his side, his head against the flagstones.

Her mother pulled on his arm. "Bryce! We must get you out of here!"

He shook his head, even as he kept his forehead against the stone. "I," he pushed himself up a bit, his arm clutched around his stomach. "I won't survive the standing, I think."

It seemed fleeing was no longer an option. Mariah stood, and took several steps towards the door. Rabbit still stood the doorway, watching the way they had come tensely. How many of Howe's men could possibly be brought to bear here? The walls were sturdy enough. Did they still have time to pull the knights from the front hall to defend them here?"Then we will stay and defend you," she responded, thinking quickly.

"No Mariah, we cannot," her mother responded firmly. She looked back at her father, pulling on him gently once more. "Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us! We must go!"

"Someone must reach Fergus," her father continued weakly. "Tell him what has happened."

Mariah looked back at her father in alarm, returning to his side. "You can tell him yourself, father."

Her father looked up at her with a sad smile and shook his head. "I wish I could." He coughed briefly, which seemed to cause him even more pain. His blood now traced its way along the mortar between the flagstones. Mariah shook her head, denying his words. She looked around desperately. They were in the larder. By Andraste's sword, there had to be some herbs she could use, or at least some cloth they could use to staunch the flow of blood!

"Bryce, no!" her mother sobbed, pulling her father from the floor into her arms. "The servants' passage is right here. We can flee together; find you healing magic!"

He rested his head in her against her arm, and closed his eyes. "The castle is surrounded," he said, pained. "I cannot make it."

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct."

Mariah grabbed for her sword and was half-turned before she recognized the voice. Duncan stepped from the shadows around the servant's passage. "Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult."

Her mother looked up from her father, also alarmed, but must have seen the recognition on Mariah's face. "You are Duncan, then? The Grey Warden?"

Duncan looked at them, his face sad. "Yes, your Ladyship. The teyrn and I tried to reach you earlier." He settled down beside them on one knee.

Her mother nodded at Mariah. "My daughter helped me get here, Maker be praised."

Duncan turned towards her, his expression strangely wry. "I am not surprised."

Mariah furrowed her brows at him in confusion for a moment. Duncan must have still been discussing strategy with her father when Howe's men had attacked, then traveled with him as they tried to fight their way through the main hall to get to the bedrooms. He had to have been scouting ahead while her father rested. Her father was still fair with a blade, but she knew age was beginning to slow him down. He wouldn't have survived this long without Duncan fighting at his side.

"Thank you for saving my father," she told him gravely.

He winced. "I fear your thanks are premature. I doubt I have saved him."

A splintering crash echoed through the castle. If the door hadn't already collapsed, it wouldn't be much longer.

Her mother looked at them all. "Whatever is to be done now, it must be quick! They are coming!"

"Duncan," he father said as he pulled himself out of his wife's arms, "I beg you. Take my wife and daughter to safety!"

Mariah frowned at him, shaking her head, but Duncan replied before she could find words.

"I will, your Lordship. But," he paused, looking at them all briefly before giving her father a meaningful look. "I fear I must ask for something in return."

The light of hope returned to father's eyes at this promise, and that more than anything kept Mariah's protests silent. "Anything!" he replied.

Duncan kept his gaze level on her father as he spoke. "What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands I leave with one."

Her father tensed, as if to object, "I…" He trailed off, looking at Mariah and her mother. He bowed his head. "I understand."

Mariah didn't. "Ser Gilmore guards the front gate," she said, exasperated. "Are we to go back and fetch him, now?"

Duncan then turned his serious eyes on her. "Truthfully, you were always my first choice."

That stunned Mariah into silence, so he turned back to address her father. "I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what happened. Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."

Mariah could feel her jaw hanging open as she looked, aghast, from her father to Duncan and back again.

Though he addressed Duncan, her father looked at her. "As long as justice comes to Howe." He closed his eyes. "I agree."

Duncan looked at her again. "I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

She shook her head. Leave the Cousland family? Now? "But what if Fergus is dead?"

Duncan's eyes became steely. "We will inform the king, and he will punish Howe. I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedence even over vengeance."

How could he ask such a price? How could he ask any price at all? Common decency alone should drive him. Did he propose to leave them to their fates if she said no? She gritted her teeth and was about to respond when she felt a hand on hers. Her father squeezed it gently, and fixed her with a serious gaze.

"Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to," he paused, his eyes pained as he searched for the words, "to advance himself." He held her hand with surprising strength. "Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done! Our family," he closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again, they had the same sort of steel she had just seen in Duncan's eyes. "Our family always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

Her father's face wavered as tears filled her eyes, and her throat closed around the angry words she had been about say. She bowed her head. Many people had died for her this night. More were about to die. Didn't she owe them this? Was it so high a price to pay to ensure justice done? Was it so high a price for the life of her mother as well? This was her father's final request; and the final burden the Cousland name had placed on her shoulders.

The anger and defiance drained out of her at last, and she bowed her shoulders and put her other hand over his. "I will, father. For you."

Duncan stood briskly, "We must leave quickly then."

Mariah held her father's hand for a moment longer, searching for something else to say. Who was she fooling? Her grief had choked all words from her. She stood, and his hand slipped from her grasp. She turned towards the servant's passage.

Her mother rocked cradled his head in her hands, and forced him to look at her. "Bryce, are you sure?"

He nodded between her hands, looking very tired. "Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery. She will live, and make her mark upon the world."

Her mother stroked his cheek, then laid him carefully back on the floor. She turned to Mariah as she drew her bow. "Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance to escape without me."

Mariah stared at her mother, her mind refusing to make sense of the words she had just heard.

Her father groaned again, and tried to sit up. "Eleanor…"

She knelt beside him once more. "Hush, Bryce," she said, running one of her hands through his hair. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

Mariah shook her head, more and more violently as she realized what her mother planned. No! The deal was for her mother's life as well. She could not lose them all. She would NOT!

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself!" She declared, striding towards them once more.

The eyes her mother turned on her were resigned. No, they were determined. There was no despair there; only love. "My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond."

Mariah staggered to a stop. In the distance, a great crash signaled the destruction of the front gates. The both looked at her, and in unison said, "Go now." They looked at each other in quiet amusement.

Duncan grabbed her arm, pulling her away, and she found herself unable to resist, staggering after him as he pulled her towards the exit.

"Rabbit," she called. For a heart-stopping moment, Rabbit hesitated at the doorway, looking at her parents. Then he quietly padded across the larder and joined them in the passage. Mariah watched her parents as they hugged once last time, and the heavy tapestry that partially hid the old servant's passage fell into place. Then she turned away from the last light that leaked into the hall, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

The servants' passage slanted down then turned into a narrow stairway trailing around the hillside towards the side of the castle. Built for deliveries directly into the kitchen area, and no doubt used for other comings and goings that required 'discretion', the exit brought them down across from the side gate of the outer castle walls. The clangs of metal on metal and the cries of dogs and men echoed outside, though it seemed distant at the moment. Terrified neighs also echoed in the night. Firelight painted dancing red lights off of the walls as they neared the partially open gate at the bottom of the passageway. The stables were aflame. She wondered if Howe's men had at least left the stable hands alive, though her heart told her no. She despaired over all of her father's fine horses, including poor Whirlwind.

She pulled on Duncan's arm, and tilted her head in that direction. "Horses?"

He looked towards the stables, brows furrowed, and shook his head after a moment. Mariah tried to stifle her disappointment. Whirlwind was the least of her losses this night, after all. Without a word, Duncan motioned for her to stay, and slipped through the doorway as soon as she nodded. He disappeared remarkably quickly, and left with little else to do, Mariah flattened herself against dew covered stone. Rabbit crouched patiently in the shadows beside her, dark eyes shining with the reflected firelight and ears twitching as he listened to the sounds in the bailey. He remained calm, however, so Mariah supposed there were no enemies near.

She looked down at the blood on her gauntlets; father's dying blood. Had the knights in the front hall held, or was her mother even now fighting to buy her time? Surely they were not yet dead. She closed her hands into fists and resisted the urge to glance up the darkened stairway. Her path lay ahead, not back. Honor demanded it. Her parents' hopes demanded it. She just wished she could convince her heart of these things.

Rabbit grunted, and butted his head against her ribs. Duncan was back, and when he saw her look up, he gestured sharply for her to follow. She gritted her teeth and pushed through the gate as Rabbit crowded close behind. Together they dashed quickly across the open bailey towards the side gate of the outer wall. Despite his heavier armor, Duncan made remarkably little noise, his crouched gait somehow allowing him to move his feet lightly across the cobblestones. Her own booted steps and Rabbit's clicking nails seemed to her ears to echo against the walls with increasing volume as they ran. They made the outer wall without anyone crying out an alarm, however, so she could only suppose such noises lost among the sounds of combat.

She felt relief only for a moment, however. In the shadows of the side gate, three of Howe's men slouched, and Mariah reached for her sword and braced herself to be challenged. They were motionless, however, as Duncan slid by them. Pausing as she drew close, she could just make out the stain of blood leaking down their tabards. They were all three very dead, apparently all while at their posts, and she had not heard a sound of it while Duncan was gone. She looked at the Grey Warden with renewed respect and some trepidation, but he just returned her look with raised eyebrows and tilted his head towards the dark road beyond.

Mariah shook herself, and focused on following Duncan's lead as he led her on a mad dash through the shadowed back alleys of Highever town. She stopped when he held his hand up, ran when he motioned her to continue, and sometimes had to wait while he took silent forays on his own. At first she tried to creep along behind and equal his light steps, but by the time he led them away from the narrow back roads and into the hills beyond, it was all she could do to keep up with him on the uneven terrain. The trees closed in and the rocky ground grew steep as they fled into the woodlands of the high country south of Highever in the pre-dawn darkness.

Her breathed fogged before her as they climbed higher, and Mariah began to shiver despite the exertion and armor as the sweat chilled against her skin. Early spring in the coastland hills was a cold and damp affair, and it was not long before the morning dew was gone and she found herself scrambling on frost covered stone, grasping at Rabbit's collar to keep her balance. Still, the Grey Warden set a blistering pace up the rocky incline, and if anything picked up his pace once they crested the top scrambled down the other side. It was not long before they were heading up again, however, and Mariah's world narrowed to little more than watching Duncan's booted feet as they climbed and descended hill after hill.

Then they were stopped, and Mariah found herself huddled beside Rabbit, teeth chattering as Duncan built up a small fire before them. She blinked at him, confused.

"We need to keep going. To get away. To get to the king," she said between shivers.

He looked up at her and snorted. "No. You need to rest. We've put enough distance between us and Highever for one morning, I think."

Mariah blinked at him, and truly looked around for the first time. The sun was indeed filtering down through the trees of a nearby hill, and the sky above was pale blue. Around them, merry birds' chirps sounded throughout the forest. The night was over.

She shifted closer to the fire, and hugged her knees to her chest. Her shivering stopped, and Rabbit left her side and began pacing around the fire, nose to the ground. Finally, he turned towards her and woofed quietly. She shrugged at him, and turned towards the fire again, but after a moment he woofed again, still softly, but insistent. When she looked up again, he turned towards her, spun to face the forest, then turned back at her, woofing a third time.

Across the fire from her Duncan stood, looking concerned. "Does he see something?"

Mariah's heart skipped a beat, and she started to stand. Had they been followed? But Rabbit, huffed, shaking himself, pacing back and forth between the fire and the forest. Mariah settled back down. "No, Rabbit. We're resting for a while. Sit down."

He grumbled, a deep sound in his chest that was not quite a growl, and turned to face her as he sat. His grumbling ended with a loud huff as he looked at her, and he titled his head back and forth.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

He leaned back on his haunches and lifted his paws in the air; a begging posture she had not seen since he was a puppy.

"Ah. You're hungry?"

He dropped his paws and woofed again happily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. She glanced up at Duncan, but he shook his head, raising his hands as if to show how empty they were.

"I'm afraid we have no food for you Rabbit."

Rabbit huffed impatiently, looking from her to the forest and back again.

"Ah. You want to go hunting?"

He barked, louder this time, his stubby tail wagging. Duncan, however, looked at the mabari dubiously. "Can he remain unseen?"

In response, Rabbit shifted to a crouch and stalked quietly forward a few steps before tilting his head at the Grey Warden expectantly. Duncan grunted in surprised amusement, and rubbed his beard briefly as he looked back to Mariah. "Up to you, then."

She nodded at Rabbit. "Go on, but return as quickly as you can."

Rabbit grinned at her, then wheeled around and trotted off into the woods, disappearing quickly into the undergrowth. Duncan shook his head as he sat back down, "I've been in Ferelden a long time, but I don't believe I've seen a dog quite like that before."

"Rabbit is a purebred mabari," she replied proudly. "Only the king's kennels might have better bloodlines, and we would dispute that, I think. His pedigree goes back to before the first stone in our castle were laid." Melancholy settled back over Mariah's heart. "Our castle." She hunched before the fire, settling back into silence for a bit. Duncan grabbed a few more sticks and fed them into the fire.

"We'll be traveling south," he said after a while. "To Ostagar."

Mariah squinted at him in thought. "The old Tevinter ruin at the end of the imperial highway?"

Duncan nodded. "According to a message I received from my men traveling with the king's army, this is where the king plans to make his stand as the darkspawn come up from the Wilds. We will be standing with them."

Mariah nodded, struggling to focus. She took a deep breath, and sought to bring up a map of the country in her mind. "We'll need to travel through the Bannorn, or head over to the west and follow the North road south along Lake Calenhad."

"Yes," Duncan responded. "But after last night I'm not sure which is the best route." Mariah looked at him, puzzled, so he continued. "Meaning we don't know who might be Howe's allies in this."

"Father's banns are loyal," she snapped.

He titled his head and raised an eyebrow. "Like Arl Howe was?"

She gritted her teeth against the angry words, and scowled back at the fire. At first, she questioned every loyalty she had ever taken for granted, wondering if perhaps every bann and arl that owed her father fealty might be involved. As she thought of them, every face and family she had known, she began to separate them out by their behaviors and history. "Some of these banns and arls have been loyal to my father for generations," she finally said, her voice even. "They even stood with him when he defied the Orlesians during the Rebellion, despite the odds. And personally…personally they are friends. They are," insisted, glancing up defiantly at Duncan.

"The Howe family," she paused, looking back into the flames as she examined past events in a new light. "They stood with the Orlesians. My grandfather eventually had to march on Amaranthine and seized it, as those lands held great strategic value." Mariah shook her head. "After his father died in the fighting, however, Rendon offered my father allegiance once more for the return of his lands. I thought…we all assumed the friendship they formed during the war had put that behind us. To think that he might have been nursing a grudge all these years…." She grabbed one of the branches Duncan had gathered, and started poking the fire. "The Couslands still have many allies, even in the Bannorn, though those banns are very independent minded. We've been loyal to the king for hundreds of years, and I know we have Cailan's support, at least. Howe would either need to trick everyone in some way to defer the blame or," she paused, frowning. "Or he has some very, very strong allies whose connection he has hidden." Mariah's eyes widened. "Perhaps the Orlesians themselves."

She heard Duncan sign. "Mariah," he began, a warning tone in his voice, "there will be time enough for others to uncover Arl Howe's treachery later. For now, we most focus on our path southward.

Mariah waved towards him and nodded. "I know," she sighed and slumped, exhausted. "I know. I just need…I need to understand why. At least a little." Mariah rolled her neck, looking up at the beautiful blue sky. In other places, the world had not ended overnight. She looked back across the fire at Duncan and rested her chin on steepled fingers. "Besides, it does affect our choices. If he moves because he has somehow built up support among the banns for a revolt, then we won't be able to travel openly. If he is using trickery of some sort, or has foreign support, then our allies might be confused enough at first to not move against him, but would likely give us aid as we travelled. Either way, the bulk of most of the troops would be heading south as we speak, so the roads will be crowded. Troops! Fergus! If we can catch up with him, we would be able to travel openly. "

Duncan narrowed his eyes in thought. "Your brother travels openly on the best roads, and with all the speed they can muster. He also has quite a head start. Even if we were free to travel just as openly, I doubt we could catch up with him at all without exposing ourselves to great danger. I think it is best if we assume the worst, and that many of your father's banns have been compromised. I would prefer to depend on none of their loyalties for our safety if we have any choice."

Mariah wanted to argue. Pride demanded that she call on those banns she felt were loyal, if for no other reason than to defy the doubt Howe's betrayal had planted in her heart. She also knew, however, what the Chant said about pride. "Then what do you suggest?" she growled at Duncan.

"I know a few back roads through the Bannorn," he began. Mariah raised an eyebrow at him. "I have needed to travel quickly and quietly before," he added, apparently amused at her reaction. "I need to know, however, which banns you think might be allied to Howe and thus be actively seeking us out, so that we know which roads to avoid. It will be slow going, but it is the surest way to reach our destination. I also feel," he paused, frowning at her oddly for a moment. "I have reason to believe that the bulk of the darkspawn army will not reach Ostagar for some time. We do have a few weeks, if we need it."

She digested this for a few moments. "And Fergus?"

"Your brother is not helpless, by any means. He will need to watch out for himself. He will, no doubt, arrive in Ostagar well before us. I believe at that point he will have more to fear from the darkspawn than from any treachery," he finished, his look pointed.

Mariah threaded her fingers together and stared at her hands. She had indeed almost forgotten about the darkspawn, and her father's promise…no, HER promise to join the Grey Wardens. It still made little sense to her. He said he had sought her out , but why? Political pull? Even though she would technically be expected to surrender her claims on her Cousland inheritance, she knew better than to believe that this would make her family ties meaningless. She knew, however, that the Grey Wardens had the full and enthusiastic support of the king, and she had never heard of them recruiting for political reasons. They were an elite group of warriors; why would he risk diluting that? She tapped her thumbs together and braced herself to speak.

"I wanted to talk to you about that."

"You're not trying to back out now, are you?" he demanded, surprise melding into anger in his voice as he spoke. "I will remind you that you gave your word, and…"

"No," she interrupted briskly, still staring at her hands. "No. That's…not what I meant." She looked up and sighed. "I was offering YOU a chance to back out, to be honest."

The anger on his face melted to confusion. "What?"

"I don't understand why you sought me out. I have never won a tourney. Maker's breath, I haven't even been allowed to participate in a tourney." She shook her head as she looked up at him, and struggled to calm her voice. "I've not led men into battle. I haven't proven myself in any way. Did you see the practice duel I had with Fergus?" She paused, thinking back over the time that had passed. Had that only been yesterday?

Duncan returned her look calmly. "I did."

Mariah looked down at her hands again and felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "Then you saw me fail. Why would you seek me out?" She braced herself, and finally looked him in the eye and asked the question. "Is it because I'm the daughter of a teyrn?"

"Ah." He leaned back and looked at her thoughtfully. "You have had extensive training and, I think, great potential as a warrior, but there's more to being a Grey Warden than skill at arms," he paused, and his eyes narrowing. "Might I ask you a question in return?"

Well, he hadn't exactly answered her yet, but she shrugged at him anyway.

"Why did you fight your way to your father last night?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, perplexed. "I fought because there were a lot of rather hostile, armed men between him and me."

He chuckled. "That isn't what I meant, as you well know."

She shrugged again. "What else could I do? I didn't have any choice."

"It did not occur to you to barricade yourself in the bedroom suits and wait for rescue?"

She scowled at him. "Of course not! They had killed Eria, Owen, and Oriana already! Father was downstairs! Besides, if I had waited there, the castle would just have been over-run, and we would have died for sure."

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "But you had no way of knowing that at the time."

"I…no, but…."

"I have heard much of both your prowess as a warrior, but also a great deal about your temperament," he continued. "After your duel with Fergus, your first thought was to how you could have won. What you did wrong that you might change so you COULD win next time."

"Well," she rubbed her forehead in shame. "It wasn't exactly my first thought."

His voice became stern, and she looked up at his suddenly fierce eyes in surprise as he continued. "Regardless what you choose to believe, you MUST understand that I would not offer anyone a place in the Grey Wardens solely based on their rank. I would certainly NOT make the offer out of pity because you lost your family. The Grey Wardens are not a charity. I sought you out because I wished for you to join our order. I made the deal to secure your agreement because I believe the order will need your aid in the weeks to come. What happened in your caste and two your family is horrible, but it pales beside what may happen if.…" Duncan broke off, looking out into the forest in alarm. He stood quickly, pulling one of his swords, and Mariah scrambled to her feet as she also heard the crashing sounds of something large rushing through the underbrush.

She sighed with relief when Rabbit crested a nearby hill, jaws clamped firmly on something as he dragged it towards them. Just as well. Her muscles has protested fiercely when she had rushed to her feet, and she doubt she had the energy to fight. She sheathed her sword and Duncan followed suit as Rabbet proudly deposited a yearling buck at her feet.

"I rather expected him to come back with a hare," Duncan said, somewhat incredulously.

Mariah smiled at the mabari. "Good job, Rabbit."

He barked happily in response.

"Duncan, do you have a knife we can use? We can take one of the haunches," she began

Rabbit growled.

"What? There are two of them," she protested.

He tilted his head and whined.

"Fine. The shoulders then."

He barked, and sat beside the buck, panting happily.

Duncan drew a knife, and moved towards the carcass, watching the mabari warily. Rabbit, of course, let him be since he didn't get close to the deer's haunches. Shaking his head, the Warden began to butcher the buck.

"Duncan?"

"Yes?" he responded as he worked.

"I won't disappoint you."

He smiled briefly at her. "I didn't believe you would."

It was with full stomachs that they moved on that evening, which was the last time for many days that happened. Her nerves were on edge the first night, chasing away her exhaustion as she peered behind every tree and hedgerow for hidden assassins. By the time dawn broke again, however, her muscles and spirit were exhausted from the constant strain, and she collapsed into a dreamless sleep, Rabbit stretched at her side, in the hayloft of the ramshackle barn Duncan declared their resting place. She slept through to the next evening, and it took a great force of will to ignore her stiffened muscles and growling stomach and leave the nest of hay. Mariah struggled to sharpen the meager skills she had learned during the infrequent hunting parties, but this trip was quite different in so many ways from having huntsmen set up and strike camp between stop-overs at the holdings of friendly banns and freeholders. She followed Duncan's instructions without comment, determined to be useful and eager to keep her mind busy. Indeed, the next few days became a blur of shadowed fields, muddy back roads, chilling rain, and foraged food as they travelled unrecognizable paths during the night and rested during the day.

Finally, Duncan determined that they were far enough from the northern lands to be safe. They left the muddied roads for the broken and worn stone of the old Imperial Highway, and he pushed her to continue through the morning. The must have looked quite a frightful sight when they arrived at the door of a small roadside hostel. The good woman only let them in when she saw Rabbit, for those traveling with a mabari MUST be quality folk, no? Duncan produced silvers from somewhere to pay for rooms and a bland but delightfully filling stew. At her request, he also paid a few more to persuade the hostel keeper to fill a small stone bathing basin for a bath. The water was tepid, the soap smelled of lye, and the water was filthy by the time she had washed herself and what she could of her armor, but she was clean again. She watched the sun go down from her room in silence. Duncan was downstairs, writing correspondence to the other wardens so they would expect them tomorrow, and Mariah, for the first time in many days, had nothing to do, nor anything to distract her mind. Tomorrow they would arrive in Ostagar. For tonight, however, she buried her face against Rabbit's collar and sobbed.

She stifled it as much as she could. After all, it would not do for anyone to hear a Cousland cry, especially if she was the last.


	5. Chapter 5

The Imperial highway climbed in a determinedly straight line towards the heights where Ostagar crouched instead of winding up the hills as most roads would have done. It seemed the ancient Tevinter architects disdained such things as the lay of the land or practicality when building either their roads or their fortresses. Of course, both had survived for at least a thousand years so far, and despite a few patches of crumbling stonework here and there, the highway was still useable, so who was she to judge? Ostagar might not have fared as well, of course. As they drew closer, she could see large portions of the ancient fortress crumbled to rubble, and whole sections of some platforms missing, as if some might creature had taken huge bites out of the structure. Mariah laughed at herself. She sounded like little Oren sometimes. As fanciful as that might be to imagine a dragon ripping off parts of the fortress, it was more likely the work of siege engines from centuries before. Recent wooden structural reinforcement bridges the gaps here and there, and the guard posts they passed were relatively temporary things as well.

Despite all that, Ostagar was extremely imposing, stretching as it did between two natural cliffs. Giant arches reaching hundreds of feet in the air walled off the valley to the south and supported the bridge between the two halves of the fortress. On the near side as they climbed the final approach, there was a great tower which climbed even higher into the sky, no doubt offering a truly breath-taking view of all the lands beyond. She had read that when the Tevinter Imperium manned this as their far outpost, they had held it against the combined might of the Chasind peoples for centuries. She could well believe those stories now that she had seen the place in person. She was gazing up at some archways that towered over the road, wondering whether these were always merely freestanding arches or once supported a roof, when a voice echoed down the road.

"Ho there, Duncan!"

Had some of the Grey Wardens come to meet them? The fast horse of the courier Duncan had sent could have easily reached the place early last night. She squinted curiously as a blond man in shining golden plate emerged from a patchwork gate into the sunlight, striding forward confidently. Flanking him on either side were two soldiers wearing the king's symbol on their tabards. Mariah shuffled to a halt in surprise, and straightened her shoulders as she realized what she was seeing. She did just manage to keep herself from checking her hair, however, and signaled to Rabbit to stand at attention as the man reached out a gauntleted hand to firmly shake Duncan's hand.

"Your Majesty!" Duncan said, accepting the king's handshake with hesitant surprise. "I did not expect…."

Cailan grinned at him, "A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

Mariah blinked in surprise. Was the king given to sarcasm? She hadn't known that. Duncan did not look pleased. "Not if I could help it, your Majesty," he replied with considerably less enthusiasm than the king was showing.

Cailan smiled, quite pleased, and pulled Duncan to his side as if they posed before a portrait maker. "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!" He squared his shoulders, eyes focused on the sky for a moment in pleased satisfaction. "Glorious!"

Then his eyes moved to Mariah and Rabbit, and he dropped the pose in an instant, his eyes alive with curiosity. "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?"

The other wardens were talking to the king about her? She glanced at Duncan warily, wondering for the first time exactly what Duncan had written in those missives.

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty," Duncan replied, gesturing towards her, but Cailan shook his head.

"No need, Duncan." He walked before her and smiled pleasantly. "You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've ever actually met."

Her parents had trained her on what to do if presented to the king, but this hardly fit any of the scenarios they had offered as examples. Well, she would have to make do. She put her hand over her heart and bowed as she introduced herself. "I am Mariah Cousland, yes, and I have not previously had the pleasure, your Majesty." As she looked back up, she caught a brief, impatient frown from him, though he smoothed it over with a short sigh. Well, best to skip the rest of the niceties, and go straight to the important parts. "I bring important news, unless you've had word from Highever already?"

He shook his head. "Word from the north is unreliable. Is it about your father? Your brother has been concerned about him."

Fergus was alive! She closed her eyes a moment in relief, "I'm glad to hear my brother arrived safely. After what happened I feared the worst." Cailan cocked his head at her, his brows furrowed. Confusion? Concern? "Father is not coming," she continued. "He," her throat closed around the words. Sword of Mercy, she had practiced this, and she would not falter now that she had the king's attention! She took a deep breath and started again. "He died when our castle was taken."

The king's eyes widened in shock. "Dead?! What do you mean?" Mariah braced herself to give the rest of her prepared words, but Cailan turned away. "Duncan, do you know anything about this?" he demanded.

Duncan nodded at Mariah, his voice solemn. "Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

Agitated, Cailan paced back and forth before them, shaking his head. "I…can scarcely believe it!" He turned back to Mariah, obviously outraged. "How could he think he would get away with such treachery?"

Mariah opened her mouth to respond, but he waved her off angrily. She snapped her mouth shut. "As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice," he added. His eyes flashed and his voice was adamant. "You have my word."

"By justice, you mean…"

"He will hang," he assured her. His eyes softened. "I know that will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this."

As soon as the words left his mouth, a great weight lifted from her heart. Howe would regret this treachery. Or perhaps he wouldn't even live THAT long. She had survived to ensure that, at the very least. Her voice shook a bit when she responded, despite her efforts to remain composed. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"No doubt you wish to see your brother." She nodded. Mariah didn't look forward to breaking this news to Fergus, but it was best he heard it from her. Besides, she would be very glad indeed to see him alive, even if she would be the bearer of bad news. Cailan held out his hands apologetically. "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

Mariah felt her jaw drop with surprise. Fergus was leading his troops into the wilds? Yes, that sounded like something he would do. After a moment, she remembered herself, clearing her throat, and forcing her voice even. "When will he return?"

"Not until the battle is over, I fear. Until then, we cannot even send word."

Mariah's heart sank. After the battle? They would remain out in the Wilds even as the horde approached? Would she now lose him to those creatures rather than to Howe's murderers?

Cailan seemed to share the distress his news brought her, and put a hand on her shoulder. "I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do." His lips thinned for a moment. "All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

Mariah nodded. After a moment's consideration, she replied. "Then Duncan will find he has a most enthusiastic new recruit on his hands, I think."

He stepped back again, a surprised laugh on his lips. He looked up at the sun and shook his head. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent," he gave a long suffering sigh. "Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

The mental picture of Teyrn Loghain, dour hero of the Battle of the River Dane, hopping up and down in excitement as Cailan slouched in a nearby chair, bored, brought a reluctant smile to her face.

Duncan spoke once more. "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

Cailan shook his head. "Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

Mariah blinked at the king. He was painting a very different picture of the upcoming battle from Duncan had on their trip south.

"You sound very confident of that," she responded hesitantly.

He grinned, his voice full of laughter. "Overconfident, some would say, right Duncan?"

Duncan gave her a quelling look, and responded to the king reluctantly. "Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended quite as…quickly as you might wish."

Cailan wrinkled his nose and turned away. "I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon." He seemed to be scanning the sky, as if even now he looked for some draconic form winging its way over head.

Mariah rocked back on her heels, happy that the king's back was to her so he would not see her reaction. "Alas"? Ferelden had never seen a Blight, but if the old tales from other parts of the world were correct, then it would suffer greatly if this was indeed one. The eldest records spoke of entire countries being devastated. Should looked at Dunca, but he was focused on the king.

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" he asked dryly.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales!" he responded, his voice enthusiastic. "A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do."

Well, the king must have read different books than she had. Mariah licked her lips and glanced at Duncan, but he shook his head subtly, so she kept her peace.

Cailan turned back, motioning back towards the fortress. "I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!"

Mariah crossed her arms over her chest and gave Cailan a formal bow when he nodded in her direction, and watched his back as he walked away. She had done it; survived to report Howe's treachery to the king. It was…liberating, in a way. Once he was out of earshot, however, Duncan stepped back, and turned towards her, studying her face thoughtfully. "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

"That's…good to hear?" He continued to frown, however. "Perhaps this isn't really a Blight after all?" she offered.

"So some believe, but I disagree." He said, waving her through the gate into the fortress. Mariah looked down at Rabbit, who returned her look curiously. Shrugging, she walked forward, and Duncan fell into step beside her. Behind them, the gate guard shut the makeshift portcullis once they were clear.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with every passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us," Duncan explained quietly as they walked. "I know there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

She frowned over at him. Cailan had said there had been no signs of an archdemon, yet there was no doubt in Duncan's voice. "Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly."

Duncan made a frustrated face, his voice rising."Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable." He shook his head. "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay.

Mariah came to a confused stop. "What do you mean? What ritual?"

He turned back, silent and thoughtful for a few moments. "Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden," Duncan explained calmly. "The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon."

She hadn't read anything about a ritual in any of the books she had acquired over the years, and she had been quite diligent, she though, if tracking down books on the Grey Wardens. He raised his eyebrows, as she just looked at him, confounded.

"It's secret," she concluded, and he nodded. "Why is it secret?"

"Joining is dangerous," he admitted, but shook his head when she started to ask more. "I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary."

Mariah crossed her arms, but after moments of scowling at him, his continued impassive response told her she wasn't going to win a battle of wills over this. Besides, she would find out this evening, it seemed, so it really didn't pay to annoy him. She dropped her arms in resignation. "What do you need me to do?"

Did she see a bit of a smile when she capitulated? She was sure she did. "Feel free to explore as you wish," he told her. "All I ask is that you do not leave Ostagar for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits."

"There are other recruits?"

"Yes, two others. They have been waiting for us to arrive."

Well, she shouldn't have been too surprised. He did say their numbers were few and they needed all the help they could get. Given that, she should be more surprised there were only two.

"Your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business," he continued.

"What? Why? Why can't he stay with me?"

"Until the Joining is complete, I ask that you let me watch over him. Consider it part of your initiation." Duncan smiled reassuringly. "You need not worry. My tent is near the kennels, and I will make sure he is well fed."

Rabbit barked joyfully, and hopped over to stand at Duncan's side. Mariah sighed. That decided that.

"I could use a warm meal myself, for a change," she admitted with a sigh. "Something where I can identify the meat would be nice."

Duncan chuckled. "Yes, I agree. Find yourself something to eat. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits. The Grey Warden tent is on the other side of this bridge. You will find me there, should you need to."

With that, he led Rabbit away, and left her to her own devices.

She wandered the camp for a while, following her nose to food, and milling among the soldiers. Everywhere she went, she was recognized as the new Grey Warden, not as Lady Cousland. It felt very odd. Of course, she had rarely travelled outside of The Coastlands, whereas her description had apparently been the talk of the gossips all morning in the King's Camp. She told herself she must get used to it. Once this Joining ritual was complete, she would likely never again be called Lady Cousland. There was more to being a Cousland than the titles, after all.

Still, she was happy enough to climb a ramp and separate herself from the milling people once she had secured lunch, however. It was fine and good that she must acknowledge that she would soon be Grey Warden Mariah, rather than Lady Cousland, but, honestly, she had more than enough reminders for one afternoon. She perched on a secluded open air balcony with no company but a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and several slices of roast beef, still warm from the fire. The ground fell away hundreds of feet here in a vertigo inducing drop to the pine filled Kocari Wilds below. The rolling, wooded hills fell away in every direction. Below her, a falcon or hawk circled over the tops of the trees, searching for its lunch even as she munched on hers. From this height, it seemed so peaceful, but somewhere in the bowels of that forest, a horde of darkspawn moved in this direction like a black tide. Also, hidden by the woods, somewhere Fergus and her father's troop wandered. No, not her father's troops any longer, but now his own. She watched the forest for a bit, some part of her hoping to see him, as silly as that might be. She finished off her food, however, without seeing any living creatures in the forest below but the circling bird of prey.

"What is it now?" An irritated voice said. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

She looked around in confusion, wondering if she had invaded some mage's personal spot. It took her a moment to realize that she had heard him through a broken part of the wall, and that he was not speaking to her at all, as another voice responded to the mage.

"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage," the other voice replied haltingly. "She desires your presence."

Another Grey Warden? Hadn't someone told that she could find the Grey Warden Alistair delivering message to a mage? She stood quickly, wiping off breadcrumbs and making herself presentable as the hidden mage responded.

"What her Reverence 'desires' is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens…by the king's orders, I might add!"

That gave her pause as she started around the wall separating her from the two men. Angry mages were…bad.

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" the other man replied. Well, he evidently wasn't all that concerned about making mages angry. Mariah peered around the corner at them.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!" The robed mage clutched his staff, and even from here she could see his jaws clenched. The sandy haired, armored man standing across from him appeared unconcerned, and his voice was dripping with sarcasm when he responded.

"Yes, *I* was harassing *you* by delivering a message."

Mariah laughed, which she hurriedly tried to turn into a cough when both men looked in her direction. She stepped forward, to make it look less like she was eaves-dropping. The mage frowned at her, but raised his chin and turned back to the armored man.

"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage responded, obviously trying to regain his composure.

"Here I thought we were getting along so well," the armored man replied, feigned hurt in his voice. "I was even going to name one of my children after you." His voice turned annoyed. "The grumpy one."

"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must!" He turned away and barged down the ramp. "Get out of my way, fool!" he snarled, and Mariah stepped aside to let him pass. She frowned at his back as he stalked away. From Lady Cousland to Grey Warden and now fool. She had gone down in the world, hadn't she?

"You know, the one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Mariah turned. The other man had approached her, and watched after the quickly retreating mage with wry resignation on his face.

She shook her head at him. "You are a very strange man."

He grinned. "You're not the first woman to tell me that. Wait, we haven't met, have we?" His grin faded, and he squinted at her in mock suspicion. "I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Why? Would that make your day worse?"

His suspicious look melted away as he smiled again. "Hardly. I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment." He looked after the mage again, but he had disappeared into the crowd. Then he looked back at her, recognition lighting his eyes. "Wait, I DO know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever. Mariah Cousland. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize."

She smiled and shook her head. It appeared he had heard the camp gossips as well. Or he had read the original message from Duncan. Well, it hardly mattered either way. "No need to apologize. You must be Alistair."

"Did Duncan mention me? Nothing bad, I hope." He actually sounded a bit concerned.

"Not at all," she assured him. Really, he had her at a distinct disadvantage, as he apparently knew much more about her than the other way around. Perhaps it was best to not admit to that and just let him wonder, however.

He nodded, apparently rather relieved. "As a junior member of the order," he continued, "I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

"What can you tell me about this Joining?"

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Honestly, nothing," he responded awkwardly. "Try not to worry about it. It will…just distract you."

Mariah sighed. It seemed the secrecy thing was going to be enforced, judging from his not so subtle reaction.

He tilted his head at her. "You know…it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. "You want more women in the Wardens, do you?" she replied in an arch tone.

"Would that be so terrible?" He paused, and his face became wary, then embarrassed. "Not that I'm some drooling lecher or anything. Please stop looking at me like that."

She grinned then, unable to hold on to her stern expression any longer, and he relaxed a bit. Then he turned serious once more.

"So, I'm curious: Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?" he asked.

She shook her head. Was she expected to have? She hoped not. "No, I haven't."

"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was," he replied. He looked away, his eyes unfocused. She could tell he relived in his memories whatever encounter that was, and his expression was not terribly encouraging. "I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another."

Her worry must have shown on her face, because he shrugged away his own dour expression and offered her another smile in its place. "Anyhow, whenever you're ready, let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started."

The turned together, heading down the ramps towards the main camp. "That argument I saw," she said after a moment. "What was that all about?"

Alistair looked at her in surprise for a moment. "With the mage?" he asked motioning back towards the area they left. She nodded and he made a sour face. "The Circle is here at the king's request and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just *love* letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position. I was once a templar."

She looked at him in surprise. She had never heard of anyone being a FORMER templar. As far as she knew, they served the Chantry their entire lives guarding Circle mages; guarding both the mages from threats from the outside world, and the outside world from threats from the mages. They also hunted down rogue mages, and carried out death sentences for those that broke Chantry law on spellcasting. "That WOULD be awkward," she replied thoughtfully.

Alistair made a sour face at the understatement. "I'm sure the revered mother meant it as an insult – sending me as her messenger – and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along. Apparently, they didn't get the same speech."

Mariah nodded in sympathy, and decided to change the subject. "What about the other recruits?"

"Daveth and Ser Jory are here in the camp," he replied, his tone lighter. "Have you met them?"

"No, I haven't."

"Keep an eye out, maybe we'll see one of them." She nodded, though she wasn't quite sure what she should be looking for. It wasn't as if their names might appear over their heads in large letters or anything.

She looked over at him as they walked. "I look forward to traveling with you," she offered.

He gave her a surprised, almost suspicious look. "You do? Huh. That's a switch." He shrugged. "If you have any more questions, let me know."

With Alistair in the lead, the gathered up the two other recruits, and returned to Duncan. It was time for her to find out about this Joining.


	6. Chapter 6

Mariah rolled the leaded glass vial in her hands. So the Joining involved getting a vial of darkspawn blood? The Grey Wardens had certainly had plenty of chances to acquire darkspawn blood in previous battles. Was it a test of courage, then? Were the recruits, Daveth, Ser Jory, and herself, to face test of meeting the darkspawn in battle and handle their poisonous blood without flinching? Perhaps, though that didn't seem quite right. The whole thing was enough to make one's nose itch, as Daveth had so colorfully put it in a whispered aside to her. Ser Jory seemed only mildly insulted that he had to pass more tests, and otherwise didn't seem to share the unease.

Mariah sighed. Regardless of what was to come or what the truth of the Joining was, the point of no return had been passed back in Highever. She was committed to this task now, and there would be no backing out. She rolled the vial up in the fine padded cloth made for it, and secured it into a leather pouch on her belt.

A quick glance told her that Alistair still conferred with Duncan over a map of the area, determining the path they would take into the Wilds. She got the impression that finding some darkspawn to 'volunteer' their blood would be the easy part, given their apparent numbers in the forest. In addition to the blood for the Joining, however, they were being sent to fetch copies of some Grey Warden treaties that had been stashed centuries ago in some sort of magical vault in a long abandoned building that once was in the outskirts of the fortress. Since Duncan seemed to think they could leave and return before evening, it must not be too far from Ostagar, which was both a relief for her aching muscles, and a worry – the forward edges of the darkspawn horde must be very close despite the apparent tranquility of the Wilds, if they could travel so close and still be assured of finding darkspawn.

Rabbit whined from behind her, and she looked over her shoulder at him. "Having second thoughts about sticking with Duncan for the bribes of food, are we?"

He sat with one paw lifted, ears flat, and looked miserable. He whined again. She shook her head and turned towards him. "Duncan made it very clear that you cannot go on this…Joining expedition. Besides, look at all of those dogs over there." She pointed to the makeshift kennels that had been set up for a half a dozen ill mabari. He glanced in that direction, but his ears remained back. "Do you know why they're sick? Because they swallowed too much darkspawn blood while fighting."

He made a querulous sound, tilting his head. His ears flicked briefly from their flattened position, but returned almost immediately.

Mariah put her hand over her heart. "I swear it's true!" She knelt before him. "The kennel master ALSO said he could make an ointment from a flower I can find in The Wilds that would help. If I brought some back, he promised to make some for us. For you." She added, poking him gently in the chest.

He growled, though his ears were still flattened sideways rather than back.

"Oh, don't you give me that. You're not going, and that's final."

He scooted down and laid his head between his paws so he could up at her piteously, whining once more.

Mariah scoffed. "That trick worked on Nan to get you pork bits, but you know it doesn't work on me." She paused. "Well, not anymore." She crossed her arms and scowled down at his wide eyed look, and struggled a few moments with guilt at leaving him behind. "Usually."

They looked at each other like that for a few moments, before she heaved a heavy sigh, and put her hands on either side of his head, gently pulling him up so she could set her forehead against his and looked him in the eyes. "I'll go, kill some darkspawn, grab some old papers, and be back before you know it." She let go of his head, and sat back on her heels, adding a bit of firmness to her voice as she waved a finger at him. "You stay here and you mind Duncan. Hear that? Mind him. Don't wander off and raid the food stores or sneak out the gate or whatever other thing you're going to think up when you get bored."

He sat silent with his head hanging, and she sighed. Leaning forward, she scratched behind his ears and then between his shoulders, right where he liked it. "Yes, you're still my good little puppy. Yes you are. Such a good little puppy." He finally opened his mouth and lolled his tongue out, so she rubbed his cheeks affectionately. "Just have at least a little faith in me, alright?" He huffed, and gave a little bark, so she gave him one last ruffle of the ears before standing again.

She turned to find the others all watching her. Ser Jory seemed surprised, running his hand over his mostly bald hand as he looked at her with his brows raised. Daveth had narrowed his eyes and was scratching his stubble covered chin thoughtfully. Duncan and Alistair just stood side by side with very similar expressions of bemusement. Mariah cleared her throat.

"So…we're…ready to go then?" she offered.

"Yes," Alistair replied. So much amused mockery packed into one small syllable. The man had talent.

Duncan shook his head and looked at Alistair, his face turning serious. "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely."

The smirk disappeared from Alistair's face, and he nodded. "We will."

"Then may the Maker watch over your path," Duncan responded. He looked over the four of them and nodded briskly. "I will see you when you return."

Mariah fell in behind the others as they filed out towards the gate, but they had only gone a few steps before Jory slowed down enough to come even with her.

"You have a mabari? That is…unusual," he said with some hesitation.

She knew the question behind the question. Pure-bred mabari were something that very few people in Ferelden had. A breeding pair was something a king would be honored to receive. So, Jory was no doubt wondering, who was she that she rated one? Telling him she was Lady Cousland would no doubt lead telling him what had happened in Highever. Telling the king had been difficult enough. Tomorrow she would have to tell Fergus. She had no desire to tell the tale again now. He was still watching her, however, and now that she had been silent for several steps, Daveth turned to look at her with suspicion as they walked. Think quickly, Mariah.

"With mabari, really, it's just as much that I am his person than he is my dog," she responded with a smile and a shrug.

Daveth looked at her askance. "Are you one of those ash warriors, then?"

A choked laugh escaped her involuntarily. She and Rabbit had been given some training by an ash warrior to help them learn to fight together. The idea of her joining his order would no doubt have horrified him. "Oh, I'm not nearly grumpy enough to be an ash warrior," she assured Daveth.

They were walking by the ash warriors section of encampment as it happened. Perhaps that was what had prompted Daveth. Grim, fierce warriors, they and their mabari prepared for a scouting expedition before the coming battle with focused determination. It was their sick dogs that filled the kennels, but she had no doubt that those dogs masters' had died or been injured right beside them. She noticed one of the warriors watching them as they passed so she smiled and raised an arm for a jaunty wave. The man frowned in confusion for a moment, then scowled and turned away.

"See?" she said, looking back to the others. "Do you think I could ever possibly compete with THAT for sheer sourness?"

Daveth raised his eyebrows and gave her a wry look. "I don't suppose you could, but you never know. Maybe you were an ash warrior, but weren't sour enough for 'em, and joined the Grey Wardens instead, eh?"

Mariah chuckled, feeling more relaxed. "That would be an interesting recruitment pitch to Duncan." She deepened her voice. "'This woman is way too cheerful for the ash warriors. Will you PLEASE take her? We'll throw in the mabari, as well, if you take her far enough away!'"

Daveth laughed out loud, and Jory shook his head and smiled reluctantly. She could see the question still lingering in Jory's eyes, however, so when he opened his mouth to speak, she added, "I know there were rumors about me before Duncan and I arrived. Everyone and their mother seemed to know I was coming. Did those rumors suggest I was an ash warrior?"

Jory closed his mouth, and looked at her a moment. "No," he admitted.

"Ha! They didn't even say you were a woman!" Daveth added.

They paused and grew quiet as Alistair dealt with the gate guard. This side gate led almost directly into the Wilds, so the army had it locked up tight, but the guard struggled to open it quickly enough after Alistair said a few words to him. As he worked, Alistair turned and gave her a vaguely amused if otherwise difficult to read look. Had Duncan told him who she was? Surely he had. He didn't seem inclined to add to anything about her to the conversation, however. That was a relief.

The land outside the gate fell away steeply from the gate, and whatever ancient road had once wound away from it had long ago been buried below mud, trees and the cold loving ferns the Wilds sported. She busied herself with keeping her footing in the increasingly muddy slope, so was caught off guard when Jory spoke once more.

"So, if you are not an ash warrior, how did you end up with a mabari, then?" he asked.

She glanced at him briefly. Why was the man so persistent? "I was near some mabari kennels one morning about three years ago," she began. "I had always been rather taken with them, so I would take any chance I could to get where I could see them."

Indeed, her father always invited her when his duties included a tour of the Cousland kennels.

"That morning," she continued. "I heard this horrible noise. I wasn't thinking, really," she admitted, "just reacted. I jumped in among the mabari, ran around until saw this pup just hanging up on a fence. He somehow had gotten himself trapped; snagged on a broken board at the top of the division between two kennels. He was bleeding, and obviously in a lot of pain, so I ran up, braced myself against the fence and tried to push him up to get him free." She realized that she had raised her arms above her head, pantomiming the motions of push the dog away from the fence, and dropped them with a shrug. "He was panicked, and gave me some pretty nasty scratches as he tried to free himself. I got him down, eventually, and I talked to him, to try to keep him calm until help came. Honestly, it is a wonder I didn't make things worse." She gave Jory a wry look. "As the kennel master was very sure to tell me when he arrived."

Daveth whistled. "Bet they were plenty ticked to find you there," he said.

Mariah nodded. The kennel master had been furious and terrified, though she was never quite sure whether he was more upset over her blood or Rabbit's. She could still clearly see her father's face fill with a strange mixture of annoyance and pride as she explained what had happened, and then when it became clear that the mabari pup had imprinted on her over the episode, he had been the one to arrange for their training to be integrated into Mariah's lessons, despite the objections of some in the household.

"It didn't matter how they felt," she said somberly to Daveth. "Rabbit had decided from that point that I was going to be his mistress. And Rabbit….is quite a stubborn dog, when he has a mind to be."

From ahead of them, Alistair finally spoke up. "Mabari are like that," he agreed. "They call it imprinting. They choose their own masters."

"So they just let you have him?" Jory asked in disbelief.

Mariah shrugged. "They were furious when I named him Rabbit rather than something fearsome or 'more dignified'," she said, sidestepping the question. Daveth gave her a sharp look, but said nothing, so she continued. "What can I say? When he was a pup, walking was never good enough for him; he would hop and jump everywhere. And no fence could hold him. He would at least attempt to jump them all. That's how he was stuck in the first place, in fact. So I called him Rabbit, because I thought that was appropriate."

To Mariah's relief, silence descended on the group after her words, and she kept her eyes on the path rather than try to strike up any additional conversation. Small pools of standing water now gathered in between tree roots at the side of their path, and patches of slimy mud dotted the ground where the water could not drain through the underlying stone. The cool spring air was now damp as well as they descended into the valley below Ostagar's heights, and it chilled even worse than the windy air above as it seeped in underneath her armor and clung to the skin. Looking ahead, she could see larger pools of standing water, and the trees became sparser and covered in hanging moss.

"So was this the Cousland kennels, then?" Jory finally said. Mariah stopped suddenly, but slid on the mud below her boots, and had to grab the trunk of a nearby tree to keep from falling unceremoniously on her backside. She looked at the knight, bewildered.

He pointed at her back. "You wear the Cousland arms. You are in their service, yes?"

Mariah winced. Of course she still wore the shield she had recovered from the family armory. Alistair looked over his shoulder and grinned back at her a moment, before turning to lead on. Well, that explained the strange look he had given her at the gate. There she was, trying to be evasive all the while wearing her family's arms on her back for all to see. How clever she was. She contemplated lying for a moment, but if these were to be her brothers-in-arms, it was best not to. It was one thing to not want to speak of her family, but quite another to willfully mislead these men. "I am not in service to the Cousland family," she admitted. "I am a member of it. My father was Teyrn Cousland."

"You're a LADY?" Daveth asked in the same tone he might have used if she had just announced she was actually a high dragon in disguise.

She squared her shoulders. "I can understand some surprise, Daveth," she replied dryly, "but that level of shock seems a bit excessive."

He looked abashed for a moment. "Uh. No offense meant, o' course."

From her other side, Jory managed a half bow as they walked. "Ah…Mariah Cousland. It is an honor, Lady Cousland. I apologize for not recognizing you."

"Don't worry, Jory," she said, waving away his embarrassment. "I'm hardly where you might expect me to be, now am I? Besides, how would you recognize me? Didn't you say you were from Redcliffe? I haven't been there before."

Jory nodded. "I hail from Redcliffe, but Duncan recruited me in Highever. Arl Eamon had given me leave to serve there."

"Really? Isn't that rather unusual?"

He hesitated for a moment, grabbing a low hanging branch to keep his balance. "I was in Arl Eamon's retinue when he attended King Maric's funeral, and first travelled to Highever with him." Mariah nodded. Her family had attended the funeral, of course. It had been her first visit to the capital; a mind-boggling whirlwind tour of estate after estate draped in black, with the final funeral at the castle, bedecked the same way. It had been several years ago, but she did remember that she and her family had traveled back from Denerim with Arl Eamon. A rare chance to talk in person with the powerful arl, her father said, though she wasn't present for any actually political business they might have discussed on the cold, rainy march over the North Road. Mostly she remembered being disappointed that she had not seen the king's body, as he had been lost at sea. Had Jory been with the soldiers during that long march back over the North Road? He obviously must have. She was still musing over this when he continued, his voice soft and wistful.

"And it was in Highever that I met my Helena. I was smitten. She has the most beautiful eyes, my Helena." She looked up at him in surprise. His eyes were unfocused, obviously seeing this dear woman in his mind's eye. He blinked and looked over at Mariah, shrugging sheepishly. "For years I found any excuse to return there. We married a year ago. I was attempting to persuade Helena to come to Redcliffe with me. At least, until I was recruited."

Jory had a young wife in Highever, yet joined the Grey Wardens? Had something terrible happened to his family as well? She hesitated to ask, but a morbid sort of curiosity finally forced the words from her lips.

"How did the Grey Wardens recruit you?"

"Last month, Duncan visited Highever, and the bann held a tournament in his honor," he paused, and looked at her hesitantly. "There was some disappointment when you did not attend, did you know?"

Still somewhat wary of where the story was going, Mariah wrinkled her nose. "I was in the harbor the entire week, inspecting fishing boats and overseeing tax and licensing disputes with various ship captains." Really, she had done little more than sullenly shadow the harbor master, since she was quite cross with her father for sending her on this duty and forcing her to miss the Grey Warden's tournament. According to the harbor master, however, he received more concessions from many captains than he expected, so at least all of her scowling had served SOME purpose.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." He did sound rather disappointed, though he immediately tapped his chest and added, "I won the grand melee."

"Congratulations," she offered honestly. A few weeks ago that congratulation might have been laced with envy, but much had changed since then. Her bitterness over the tournament seemed a very distant thing. Ser Jory, however, swelled with pride.

"It was hard to leave my wife. We married only a year ago, and she is heavy with child now. But," he paused, then saluted briefly, fist over heart. "Ferelden needs my blade, and I shall not falter."

She looked at him dubiously. "I was under the impression that Grey Wardens essentially cut ties with their families when they joined."

"What? I was never informed of this!" He looked at her, his brows furrowed. Then he shook his head. "Surely you are mistaken."

His outraged certainty gave her pause. "Well, the books I read it in were rather old. Perhaps they meant only nobility did this, in order to keep the Grey Wardens from becoming too tied to ruling families and established governments?"

"Ah." He nodded. "That does make sense." He bit his lip a moment, however, and raised his voice a bit. "What say you, Alistair?"

Alistair looked back. "It is a tradition to drop your family name, but it is not required. It's just that…" he paused, seemed indecisive for a second, and turned around resolutely. "It's not required."

So the evasiveness continued. It was most interesting. Ser Jory lowered his brows at Alistair's receding back, and finally followed, frowning. Mariah looked at Daveth, but he just shrugged nonchalantly. "Not like I have a family name worth spit to leave behind."

Ser Jory trudged on in resolute silence, so she fell in beside Daveth. "What about you? Where are you from?" she asked.

He looked surprised at her a moment, and shrugged again. "I grew up in a village 'bout a day's trip to the east," he said, gesturing vaguely in that direction. "Little blot you wouldn't even find on a map. Haven't been back for years. I struck out for the city as soon as I could outrun my pa. I've been in Denerim for, what…." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Six years now? Never liked it much, but there's more purses there than anywhere else."

It was her turn to be surprised. Did he just say what she thought he said? She hesitated to ask, for fear of insulting him, but curiosity got the better of her. "So…you're a cutpurse?"

"And a pickpocket, thank you very much." He looked at her, as if daring her to object to his declaration. Mariah was too stunned to think of anything to say, and when she remained silent, his defiant looked turned to wry bemusement. "Or was, anyhow. Who'd ever guess I'd end up a Grey Warden?"

She shook her head. "Now I have to know," she said. "How did the Grey Wardens find you?"

Daveth grinned mischievously. "I found them. I cut Duncan's purse while he was standing in a crowd."

"Seriously?"

He nodded. "He grabs my wrist, but I squirm out and bolt. The old bugger can run, but the garrison caught me first. I'm a wanted man in Denerim, you see, so they were going to string me up right there."

She'd never met a wanted man before. This was unique. "What happened then?"

He smiled at her again, obviously pleased with his attentive audience. "Duncan stopped them. Invoked the Right of Conscription. I gave the garrison the finger while I was walking away." He looked down at the ground a few steps, his face turning serious. "Don't know why Duncan wants someone like me. But he says finesse is important, and I'm fast with a blade." He tilted his chin up proudly. "You bet your boots I am."

Mariah raised her eyebrows. "I like my boots, so I won't bet against you."

He laughed, and his stance became less tense as he shrugged loosely. "Besides, it beats getting strung up."

Mariah nodded. "I'd hope so, anyway," she replied thoughtfully. Duncan had told her that being a Grey Warden was as much a matter of character as much as her experience as a warrior. The stories and histories she had read about the Grey Warden's had spoken of an elite order of warriors that risked all to defend the world against the darkspawn. When the order had been expelled from Ferelden centuries ago for some sort of political dispute, it was said it took all of the nation's might to remove a mere few dozen of them. Jory's recruitment she could understand. On the other hand, Daveth might be a likeable enough rogue, but part of her bristled at the implicit suggestion that her character might be compared to a street thief's. She supposed it made sense that even a Grey Warden had to start somewhere. Duncan had told her that he would never offer a place in the Grey Wardens out of pity. He must have seen some potential in Daveth to have risked the guards' wrath by invoking the Right of Conscription in such a manner. She should really tamp down on her pride and keep an open mind.

"What about you?" Mariah blinked up at Jory. He had fallen back to walk beside them, and now looked at her questioningly. "I won the grand melee in the tournament in Highever," he explained, seeing her confusion. "And Daveth told you…err...the circumstances around his recruitment. I must admit I am quite curious. Why have you been recruited into the Grey Wardens? Especially given your belief that doing so means you give up all claims to the Cousland name?"

And there it was; the question she hadn't wanted to answer. For a moment, she could see clearly the last view of her parents in the kitchen larder, and could smell the blood in the air. How could she possibly explain?

"'Was'," Daveth said suddenly.

Jory's voice was irritated when he responded. "What?"

"When she told us 'bout her family ties, you see, she said Teyrn Cousland 'was' her father. Not is. Was. I'm thinking based on that and the look on 'er face now, that the Teyrn is dead."

Jory sounded shocked. "But I had heard nothing of this when I left! Is this true?"

Mariah nodded, but kept her eyes on the road. She could still see little Oren, poor Eria, and so many others dead. She felt her throat close up, and felt grief well once more. Bah! She had cried enough at the hostel last night, hadn't she?

"Was he taken with an illness?" Jory asked, puzzled.

Her grief turned to hot fury in an instant. "My father was in excellent health until someone ran him through with a sword," she snapped. Both Jory and Daveth took a startled step away from her, so she clenched her fists and bit her tongue. It wasn't their fault.

"How long ago was this?" Jory asked carefully after a few more steps.

"Recently." She looked at him. "Too recently for me to wish to speak of it." Judging from his reaction, she was glaring again. She looked up at the blue afternoon sky for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to lighten her voice. "Perhaps some other time."

"If a lady don't want to speak about something, ser knight, I've found it safest to go ahead and not speak about it," Daveth added wryly.

Alistair stopped walking at that point, and turned to face them. "You should probably all quiet down a bit, anyway. We're getting close to the darkspawn at this point." Despite his words, he gave her a compassionate look. Mariah looked at her boots. They WERE there after the darkspawn. She was there to join the Grey Wardens. She must focus.

Daveth sidled up beside her, his voice lowered. "You goin' to let him talk to you like that, you being a lady and all?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes. He outranks me, after all."

Alistair's reaction was immediate and sharp. "What?"

There was worried alarm in his eyes when she looked up at him. Did he think she expected special treatment because she was a Cousland? Best to swallow her proud now, and publically, and let him know she understood her new place in life. "You are a Grey Warden. I am a recruit. Therefore, you outrank me."

He blinked at her a moment, and visibly relaxed. "Oh. Right." He turned around and started walking again. Well, that hadn't been the reaction she expected. She watched his back, puzzled, and finally trotted to catch up.


	7. Chapter 7

The frogs had stopped croaking. While that wasn't in and of itself a bad thing, as they had been getting on her nerves, the chorus of frogs had accompanied them ever since they had entered the water filled bottom of the valley below Ostagar. Cattails grew everywhere, their distinctive winter seed heads waving atop dried stalks even as new sprouts poked above the surface of the algae covered ponds. Their path now wound around these cattail-filled stands of water, as they followed ridges of drier land that might have once been raised roads. Around them, centuries old buildings and statuary jutted out of the water as the swampy land devoured them in slow motion. Mariah had begun to worry that the old treaties they looked for might be long buried below the muck. It would make little difference if magic protected them, then.

The sudden silence had banished those thoughts, however. They had already stumbled upon the remains of one of the king's scouting patrols, apparently completely over-run by darkspawn. It shamed her that her first reaction had been relief that they had not worn the Cousland colors. Two dozen men had died, and she had only thought to check to see if her brother was among them. They had all grown silent and tense after that, despite Alistair's assurances that a Grey Warden could somehow sense the approach of darkspawn. Ser Jory was especially wary, as he appeared to doubt Alistair's ability, and acted quite convinced that they would stumble upon hundreds of darkspawn around every bend. Thus they were already nervous, and froze at the unnatural stillness.

Mariah step forward a few steps so she stood beside Alistair. "Do you sense darkspawn about?" she whispered, scanning the area.

"Yes," he replied just as quietly.

"Where?"

He frowned at her. "It isn't quite that exact, I'm afraid."

"Many?"

He paused, tilting his head as though listening to something outside of Mariah's range of hearing. "Not many, I think," he replied slowly.

Mariah bit her lip and looked back out into the wetlands. Despite the lack of trees, between the cattails, the marsh grasses, and the stony remains of buildings, there were plenty of places that might hide attackers. Behind her, the long hiss of steel on steel told her that Ser Jory had drawn his two handed blade. The afternoon sun had started to warm the fens, but now the air seemed tinged with a chill heaviness it hadn't held before. The sun didn't really shine any less brightly, nor did the bog smell any worse than it already did, really, but she could sense a feeling of wrongness to the air around them. Or perhaps it was just her imagination playing havoc with her nerves.

Imagination or not, she readied her shield and drew her own blade.

A hissing growl echoed oddly in the quiet air. She had heard that reptiles the size of ponies with teeth the length of her palm could be found in the Korcari Wilds, and for some reason this sound made her think of those. Then she heard the sound again, but this time it formed into an unmistakable and malevolent laugh. The hairs on her neck prickled as goose bumps ran down her spine. Though she strained to hear any additional sound or see where the sound had come from, all she could hear for several moments was the tense breathing of her companions and the squelching of the mud beneath her boots as she shifted restlessly.

Jory gave a startled cry, but Mariah only had time to glance behind her before the mud at her feet moved. Something pulled itself with unnatural swiftness from the muck, with as much ease as she might pull herself from a shallow pool of water. It brandished in one hand a rusting sword, dripping with slime, and a pitted helm half shadowed a dirt covered face as it pulled itself upright before her. Red eyes glared at her from the slit of the helm as it bared its pointed teeth in a feral, lipless grin.

Mariah's repulsed instinct to _get it away_ was channeled from long practice into motion. She pulled her shield close and lunged at the thing, striking both its sword arm and the side of its horrible face with all the terror fueled strength she could bring to bear. It staggered back and snapped its pointed teeth together in angry surprise.

She shifted the sweaty grip on her sword and braced herself. Mariah kept her shield close. Old tales about the darkspawn told of them cleaving through armor like paper, but the creature's blows were repelled by the metal as any other, however. She struggled to focus. The army had beaten them twice. She had a Grey Warden with her. If she wished to join their ranks, she needed to put away her superstitious fear and dredge up all of the lessons she had learned from Ser Gilmore on judging opponents. Its swings were deceptively strong and fast, but wild and undisciplined, and though it was broad shouldered, it was perhaps two heads shorter than she was. Its mud and grime encrusted armor hung awkwardly on its ungainly frame, as if it had taken the armor from some unfortunate human rather than have some fitted to its stout frame.

The ground beneath her feet buckled and erupted again, and she staggered sideways a few steps to avoid another of the creatures erupting from the fen's mud. The first lunged forward, somehow firm in its footing despite the loose mud. Mariah twisted, her feet sliding as she brought pulled her torso away and her sword up to fend off the attack. Heart pounding, she fancied she could smell the rust of the blade as it slid inside her shield and skittered across the metal reinforced leather of her chest. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as she turned her head back to the creature. Its piecemeal armor had shifted as it attacked. She looked at it, realized what she saw, and finally her mind started really working once more. She snapped her shield back under its elbow before it could pull back from its lunge and it snarled in pain. The reptilian cry was cut short as she sunk her sword into the gap under its arm and into its chest. It collapsed, pulling her down sword with it.

Mariah dug her heels into the mud, but she could not get leverage to pull her sword free and was drug forward with it. The second creature had fully emerged at Mariah's exposed side, and laughed as it pulled its sword over its head with a two handed grip. She jerked at her sword again, turning desperately as she did so to try to get her shield arm between her and the oncoming swing.

Alistair was there then, his sword slashing across the creature's chest and ribs before it could finish its strike. He then pushed the staggered creature back with his shield and stood between the two of them. Mariah took the moment of breathing space she had been given and, planting one foot on the fallen darkspawn's chest, twisted its torso and heaved her sword out.

A quick look down the path confirmed that Jory and Daveth had somehow killed another of the creatures, and were team up against a fourth. She turned back towards Alistair, who seemed to be holding his own. Well, that was not terribly surprising, since he was the actual Grey Warden of the group, after all. This was her Joining, though, and as he had said, he was there to make sure they didn't get overwhelmed, not to make it easy. She braced herself, and shuffled through the bloody mud to flank the darkspawn, but it all but ignored her as it focused on Alistair. Irrationally, this infuriated her. Growling, she lifted her arm and brought the Cousland shield down edge first on the back of the darkspawn's helmed head. Alistair responded quickly and brought his sword on the back of the creatures neck as its head snapped forward, severing its head from its body in one brutal blow.

Mariah spun away from the gruesome sight, ready to help face the last of the creatures, only to see it also fall. She stood with shield and sword ready for a moment, panting. Then spun a circle, watching the mud at her feet for more creatures, but there were none. Gradually she relaxed as it became clear there were no more darkspawn under the mud. Of course, then the frogs started at it once more.

"Congratulations," Alistair said. "You've killed your first darkspawn. These are…or WERE…genlocks. We'll likely run into some larger darkspawn soon as well."

"So we got some runts of the pack, then?" Daveth asked.

The corner of Alistair's mouth turned up in amusement. "You could say that, yes," he replied dryly.

Mariah looked down at the decapitated form at her feet. This particular creature from legend did indeed look very, very dead. Strangely, the blood the seeped into the soil seemed viscous already, and was so dark in color that it blended in with the peat-filled soil. She started, then, remembering their errand and fished the glass vial from her belt pouch. It took a short time to fill it, and when it was done she held the bottle up towards the sky and squinted at the liquid within. It was nearly black, even against the afternoon sunlight. Had she scooped up some mud accidentally?

"Is it supposed to be this color?" she finally asked.

Alistair had been watching Jory and Daveth retrieve their blood samples, but turned back to her when she spoke. He considered the vial for a moment, and nodded, his face sour. "Yes."

Shrugging, she stoppered it, wrapped it carefully, and replaced it in her pouch. As she finished tying it off on her belt, Mariah realized some of the blood had remained on her gauntlets. Rubbing her fingers together, the texture was almost gooey, as if the blood had been drying for some time, though the corpse hadn't even begun to cool. A brief sniff told her the stuff smelled foul and rancid.

"I don't recommend tasting it either," Alistair continued. "At least, not until you have to."

She screwed up her face at him in confusion. Why would she do THAT? He winced at the look on her face. "Meaning…if you fight enough of them, the blood gets everywhere," he said quickly. "That was all I meant. It's…very disgusting really."

She continued to give him a puzzled look. Did he think she was going to back down over squeamishness? Or did he think her afraid of the poisonous blood? He didn't seem inclined to explain, but turned away, clapping his hands together briskly. "Do you have your samples as well? Yes? Good. Let's get a move on then. We still need to find those treaties, if they still exist, and be back by tonight."

She shrugged, and followed him as they left the genlock corpses behind. His warnings about running into more and larger darkspawn soon came true, and Mariah focused on keeping her form correct and her face disciplined against any signs of disgust. After the initial ambush, the darkspawn started coming in greater numbers and greater organization. Rather than simply hiding in the mud, the darkspawn began to set up ambushes and selecting defensible positions as their group progressed. The darkspawn always seemed to know exactly where they were heading, despite the fact that Mariah could see no signals or runners. It was nearly as unnerving as their strange growling cries and their rictus faces. Alistair said little after the first encounter with the darkspawn, though his path had become much more winding, and Mariah suspected his course deviated more and more as time passed to avoid the largest bands of darkspawn. To make it worse, the sky turned gray as the afternoon progressed, hiding the warmth of the sun. The temperature had dropped dramatically by the time they climbed out of the muck to the top of a hillock, and the wind blowing in from the north smelled more of rain than the bogs.

Mariah panted, holding her throbbing sword arm close to her side. She sank down on one of the moss covered blocks that had long ago fallen from the tower's ancient height, weary, chilled, and aching from fighting. A larger ruin sat atop this hill, more intact as it was held aloft from the hungry mud, but age and weather had still taken its toll. She watched Alistair as he stood squinting out over the bog, and began to wonder if perhaps Jory WAS right. The speed at which the darkspawns' numbers grew was astonishing, and she was wondering if they would be able to make it back in one piece.

"This should be it," he said thoughtfully. Alistair turned briskly, nodding, and walked around the walls of the ruined tower, brushing his hands along the ruined stone was as he did so. Then he found something on the stone wall and brushed the moss and clinging dirt away. He smacked it once in triumph. "Yes, this is definitely it." He turned to the others. "In the remains of this building somewhere should be a large, metal reinforced chest with the Grey Warden seal. If you find it, do NOT touch it. Any remaining enchantments on it may well harm you, as you are not yet Grey Wardens. Call me, and I will open it." He looked up at the cloud filled skies. "Let's do this quickly so we can get back."

Relieved, Mariah nodded along with the others. As they filed into the ruined building, she allowed curiosity to get the better of her a moment, and sidetracked over to the wall that Alistair had been examining. Where he had brushed the stone clean was a relief of two griffons rampant. A small amount of bronze still clung to the symbol, green and crumbling from exposure to the elements. She stood back for a moment, gazing up at the crumbled remains of the tower, and wondered at what it might have looked like whole, with the brilliant bronze griffons shining in the sunlight. Sighing, she stepped away. That was centuries ago, now. With one last wistful at the decaying griffons, she followed the others into the tower's remains.

Though it had not been swallowed by the mud, the tower itself was still in poor shape from its exposed position to the wind in the rain. And outer wall had collapsed in one section, and though there were some remains of a second floor, no floors above that remained, and the first floor was open to the elements. They carefully climbed amidst the rubble, and it was while Mariah was climbing among the ruins of the outer wall that she found it. Buried amongst stones the size of a mabari was the crushed remains of a large metal chest. She knelt down on the stone, craning her neck to get a better look. It lay in shadow among the rubble, and without the light of the afternoon sun she couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have seen part of the griffon symbol etched on one of the bent plates of metal. She reached out to try to pull a piece closer, and then thought better of it. If it was the chest they sought, the enchantment might have somehow have survived the chest's destruction.

"Alistair? I think I might have found it," she announced without enthusiasm.

The others gathered around her quickly enough, abandoning their searches. She stepped back as Alistair climbed the crumbled stone and peered down at the chest.

"Makers breath," he growled in frustrated disappointment. Pebbles and rocks tumbled to the ground as the others scrambled up, eager to get a look at what she had found. Mariah backed away, rolling her shoulders in exhaustion. She heard a noise from the second floor, nearly lost among the sounds of shifting rocks. At first she dismissed it as the flapping of some bird's wings as it fled its nest, but then a woman's voice drifted down from the ruined second story above them.

"Well, well, what have we here?" The woman emerged from behind one of the stairway's support columns, casually strolling down the shattered staircase as she gazed down upon them. "Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she continued as she slowly made her away down the curving steps. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey? "

Mariah was stunned by the stranger's appearance. The woman watched them all with the yellow eyes of a hunting cat's, and moved with the slow grace of one on the prowl. Though Mariah had heard the Chasind wore leathers and feathers, she had never seen anyone dressed quite so outlandishly, before. The woman's skirts were layers of leather and trailing buckles, as if the woman had woven it together from the remains of straps and belts. Her shirt, if it could be called that, was little more than lines of string with a single piece of cloth that ran about her stomach, looping up above her breasts and around her neck to form a small hood at her back. At her shoulder were the remains of one tightly fitted leather sleeve, long disconnected from any coat, decorated with feathers and colored stones.

As the woman made the bottom of the stairs, she crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow at them imperiously. Mariah looked to her companions, who had slid back down from the mound of stones to stand behind her. None drew their weapons, but they all watched the strange woman's approach intently. Jory squinted at the newcomer, puzzled and disapproving but not alarmed. In contrast, Daveth turned white as a sheet as he took in the woman's approaching form, glancing at his companions and then their environment nervously. Alistair, for his part, just narrowed his eyes warily at the stranger and frowned.

"What say you, hmm?" she prompted as they remained silent, looking over them all defiantly. "Scavenger or intruder?"

Mariah looked at Alistair, who crossed his arms and continued to examine the woman. Tension began to build, and Daveth's furtive glances at the doorway became pointed. With one last glance at Alistair, who still seemed disinclined to make a move, Mariah stepped forward.

"Aren't you cold?" Mariah winced as her words echoed loudly against the walls.

The woman dropped her arms to her sides and gave Mariah a started look. "What?"

"My apologies," Mariah began. "I had just been thinking how chilling the wind was and then you appear. I am dressed in armor and you seem…well...no offense, but certainly not dressed for the weather, to my mind." The woman had curled her lip. Well, it was too late for the no offense part, it seemed. "Please, consider it mere curiosity and…concern for your well-being."

The woman rolled her eyes. "While your concern is certainly most touching," she replied, her words dripping in well deserved sarcasm, "I believe it would be considered polite to actually answer the question posed, hmm?"

Mariah bristled. She felt as though she was facing a subtly hostile bann's wife in one of her mother's salons, and found herself taking the appropriate tone. "I beg your pardon," she responded airily, "but I fear we were not aware that these Wilds belonged to you, or to any one in particular. Hence the term 'Wilds', really."

The woman tilted her chin up, and stalked forward once again. "I know them as only one who owns them could," she explained defiantly. "Can you claim the same?" Her yellow eyes flickered over them all in superior amusement.

Mariah snorted. "By that logic, the maids owned Highever Castle as well," she replied, earning herself another sneering glare. The woman's face melted again to distant amusement as she continued to walk around them, wary but intent.

"Do you protect these men, then?" the woman asked. Mariah was puzzled for a moment, then realized that she had been unconsciously moving with the woman, keeping herself between the stranger and the men behind her. She looked back, ready to apologize, but both Jory and Daveth were still focused on the woman. Alistair gave her a wry look, but said nothing as he walked forward to stand beside Mariah. The strange woman didn't wait for the answer to her question, however.

"I have watched your progress for some time," she continued lightly. "'Where do they go?' I wondered, 'Why are they here?'" She paused once she reached the breach in the outer wall and, turning her back to the Wilds, regarded them with open curiosity. "And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair advised quietly. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

The woman made an amused sound. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!" she said, swinging her arms high as if to summon a vast horde from the reeds outside.

"Yes," Alistair replied pensively. "Swooping is bad."

"She's not Chasind!" Daveth interrupted, his voice tense and frightened. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us into toads."

Mariah looked back sharply at the stranger. The tales of Flemeth and her bloodthirsty daughters were used even in Highever to frighten misbehaving children. They would come in the night, stealing away the naughty to drag them to a gruesome fate. Fairy tales they might be, but they, like the legends of the darkspawn, might well have some kernel of truth in them. The woman, however, laughed at Daveth's fear.

" 'Witch of the wilds'! Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" She frowned at them, dismissal in her eyes as her gaze traveled among her companions. The woman's yellow eyes settled on Mariah once more, however, and she smiled thinly. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized."

Mariah raised her eyebrows. Pride refused to allow her to speak of her concern about the Witch of the Wilds tale. Besides, her instinct still was to treat this like a duel of wits with an especially prickly young heiress, and she trusted those instincts. That was a familiar situation, anyway. Mariah drew herself straight, laid her head on her heart, and gave a half bow, suitable for a teyrn's daughter greeting a bann.

"I am called Mariah," she replied solemnly. "A pleasure to meet you."

The woman seemed surprised, and smiled. "Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She looked them over again. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

" 'Here no longer?'" Alistair repeated, his tone turning to outrage. "You stole them, didn't you? You're…some kind of," he paused, grasping for words in his frustration. "Sneaky…witch-thief!"

Mariah looked to Alistair, bemused. He winced and gave her a subtle shrug of embarrassment.

"How very eloquent," Morrigan replied with obvious disdain. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems," he grumped. Then he tilted his shoulders back, and his voice strengthened in challenge. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them," Morrigan replied, offended. Then she waved her hand in nonchalant dismissal. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened."

Alistair's face hardened, and he clenched his jaws in frustrated anger, so Mariah spoke up again. "Then who removed them?"

" 'Twas my mother, in fact," she replied archly.

Mariah tilted her head at the woman in disbelief. If Morrigan WAS one of the witches from the tales, wouldn't that make her mother…?

Morrigan snorted at Mariah's expression. "Yes, my mother. Did you assume I spawned from a log?"

Alistair tilted his head towards Mariah. "A thieving, weird-talking log, perhaps," he said in an aside to her.

She grinned at him. "Do you think there are many of those in the Wilds?" He smiled and shrugged, but Morrigan continued before he could reply.

"Not all that grows in the Wilds are monsters," the woman said, frowning as she gazed back out over the bogs. "Flowers grow here as well as toads." She looked somewhat sullen as she pushed herself away from the ruined wall and returned her gaze to them. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother," she offered stiffly. " 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

Mariah looked to Alistair. He was the leader of the expedition after all. He frowned back at her thoughtfully. "We SHOULD get those treaties, but I dislike this…Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

Mariah nodded. "As if she knew she would find us here," she replied quietly. "Perhaps sent to fetch us for some reason?"

Daveth shook his head vehemently. "For some reason? I know the reason. She'll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch."

Jory snorted. "If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change."

"I say we go with her," Mariah said. Then more quietly, she added. "We should just keep our eyes open for an ambush."

Alistair looked sourly up at the darkening sky. He closed his eyes briefly in resignation, sighed and nodded. Daveth made a small sound of protest, but clamped his mouth shut Alistair's look.

Seeing the decision in their faces, Morrigan smiled. "Follow me, then," she said haughtily. "If it pleases you."

She turned and, without a backward glance, started walking briskly down the south side of the hill. They followed, though more slowly. She moved swift and sure-footed, weaving among the mud and cattails to find the solid ground with obviously practiced ease. At first, Mariah tried to place her feet only where Morrigan stepped, but it soon became clear that even when she was successful, her heavy armor encumbered her too much to allow her to glide through the swamp in the same fashion. Eventually, she resigned herself to merely walking a similar path and frequently being up to her shins in swamp water and mud.

Despite this, they traveled at a brisk pace south; nearly the opposite direction from Ostagar. They ran into no more darkspawn as they journeyed. As much of a relief as this should have been, however, the more miles they put between themselves and Ostagar, the more odd this became, and as time passed, Alistair began to eye Morrigan's back with more and more suspicion. Mariah saw him occasionally pause to tilt his head and appear to listen, then catch up with a frown on his face. After one such pause to listen, Mariah dropped back to stand beside him. When he opened his eyes, she spoke.

"Are there any nearby?" she whispered.

She realized that she hadn't specified what she meant, but he didn't pause for a moment before responding. "Not nearby, no." He shook his head, and began walking again.

Mariah hopped to keep pace with him. After a few strides she licked her lips and said, "You had templar training, correct?"

He looked at her curiously for a moment as he walked. "Yes."

"IS she using magic to keep them away?"

Alistair sighed, and gave Morrigan's back a grim look. "I believe so."

Though Mariah thought him too far ahead of them to hear, Daveth turned then. "I told you."

"Yes.," Mariah responded. "She is a mage, likely an apostate, who is apparently using her magic to keep us safe." Then she lowered her voice. "Still, I'd stay alert. We might need to find our way back to Ostagar in a hurry without a guide."

Daveth narrowed his eyes and nodded, taking new interest in their surroundings. Hopefully, that would keep his mind occupied on something besides working himself into frenzy. Of course, without said guide, she wasn't sure they could weave their way through the darkspawn quite so well, but they'd have to rely on Alistair's 'listening' and their own skills if that happened.

By the time they wove their way to the Wilds to Morrigan's hut, the sun was just peaking at the edge of the clouds on its way to the horizon, giving an eerie orange glow to everything. The shack itself was nestled in the tree shadowed fen among the ruins of a much older and once majestic building, though they were many miles away from the outskirts of Ostagar and the small town that had once been there. The reed and wood shack leaned heavily against the remains of an ancient wall, and a small trail of smoke leaked from a chimney made of recovered chips of stone.

Morrigan strode confidently towards the front of the hut where an old woman stood waiting for them. She wasn't the bent old crone with red eyes and sharpened teeth Mariah had been half-way expecting. Though her skin was wrinkled, and her hair mostly gray with only some streaks of black like her daughter's, she stood tall and relaxed as they approached. Unlike her daughter, however, she wore a simple peasant's dress, worn but well kept despite the mud and muck around her.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan said as they came within easy speaking distance, "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who…"

"I see them, girl," the older woman said curtly. She looked them over as the gathered before her house. Pursing her lips, she made a thoughtful sound. "Much as I expected."

Alistair scoffed. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

The woman gave him a mildly annoyed look. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe," she replied archly. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide…either way, one's a fool!"

"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth hissed nervously. "We shouldn't be talking to her!" His previous alarm had returned full force and he fidgeted and shifted, his hands strayin more than once to brush the hilts of the daggers at his sides.

"Quiet, Daveth!" Jory growled. "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

Morrigan's mother smiled in distant amusement. "There is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

Sadly irrelevant? What was that supposed to mean? The woman examined them all again, though her sharp eyes dismissed Daveth and Jory quickly, she gazed at Alistair a long, considering moment. Finally, she settled her look on Mariah. The woman narrowed her eyes thoughtfully before continuing.

"And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? What do you believe?"

Mariah tilted her head. The woman might well have seen them coming from a long way off. She might have heard of Grey Wardens, and thought they fit her expectations. Or she may well have some mystical knowledge of them in particular, somehow. Mariah wanted to convince herself that the woman had merely seen them weaving their way among the trees , and was acting mysterious due to long habit of cowing the Chasind or as a result of long isolation. Some instinct, however, raised her hackles and gave her doubts. "I'm not sure what to believe," Mariah responded honestly.

The woman raised her eyebrows, apparently surprised. "A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies." She smiled. "Be always aware. Or is it oblivious? I can never remember," she wondered, looking up at the sky with a distant expression.

She shrugged, dismissing her own thoughts, and took several steps forward. Unnerving intensity filled her face once more as she examined Mariah from head to toe. "So much about you is uncertain," she said. Mariah held herself still, feeling disconcertingly like she was staring down a snake deciding whether or not to eat her. The woman sighed after a moment. "And yet I believe." She tilted her head, eyes unfocused. "Do I?" she asked herself. "Why, it seems I do!" she added, her voice filled with wonder.

Mariah shared a glance with Alistair. He shrugged briefly with a wry look on his face. "So this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" he asked to her, amused sarcasm filling his voice.

The woman laughed. " 'Witch of the Wilds', eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it!" Her voice became wistful. "Oh, how she dances under the moon!" The old woman tilted back her head and laughed heartily.

Morrigan winced and pinched the bridge of her nose, spots of red appearing on her pale cheeks. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," she replied, clearly exasperated.

The woman's whole demeanor changed in a heartbeat. Her sharp eyes and stern face returned. "True. They came for their treaties, yes?"

Alistair straightened as well. "You…" he began sternly, but she cut him off.

"And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago," she picked up several aged scroll cases that had been sitting in her window sill. "I have protected these."

Alistair blinked at her. "Oh. You protected them?" He looked at the scroll cases, his lips parted in surprise, obviously caught flat footed by not having to fight for the copies.

"And why not?" Mariah was startled when the woman handed the cases to her. Despite their age, the leather was still supple, and the silver had only small patches of tarnish. Unlike the tower, the rampant griffons still shone brightly on these. How had the old woman known to save them? How had she known to take them out of storage and be prepared to hand them over?

"Take them to your Grey Wardens," the woman continued, interrupting Mariah's speculation. "And tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!"

Mariah frowned. "What do you mean? Previous Blights nearly destroyed civilizations. How could anyone underestimate the threat of a Blight? How is the threat greater than they realize?" As soon as the words left her mouth, however, she thought of her encounter with Cailan at the gates. Mariah shook her head. The woman could not possibly know anything about the king's attitude.

The serious look left the woman's face once more, and she raised an eyebrow, amused. "Either the threat is more or they realize less." Then she chuckled. "Or perhaps the threat is nothing!" Her chuckle turned into an outright laugh. "Or perhaps they realize nothing!"

She tilted back her head and laughed again. Mariah looked to the others, unsure what to make of this. Jory scowled back, irritation writ large across his features. Daveth appeared just as alarmed as he might if the woman had threatened them all with immediate toad-dom. Alistair looked like he was straining himself to not roll his eyes at her.

"Oh, do not mind me," the woman continued, still chortling. "You have what you came for!"

Still wary, Mariah gave a respectful nod to the woman. "Thank you," she said, but the woman waved her off, consumed with quiet laughter.

Morrigan stepped forward then, relief on her face. "Time for you to go, then."

The laughter disappeared abruptly, and the woman gave her daughter a disappointed look. "Do not be ridiculous girl. These are your guests."

"Oh, very well," Morrigan replied with a sigh. She gritted her teeth in a false smile and ground out something resembling courtesy as she waved her hand towards the north. "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Mariah handed the scrolls over to Alistair, who examined them with a great deal of curiosity before tucking them into his back. They had to trot to catch up with Morrigan, and by the time Mariah looked back at the hut, the old woman was disappearing through the doorway. Shaking her head at the strangeness of it all, she settled in to the steady rhythm of walking through the darkening bog. Just as with the trip to her mother's house, Morrigan picked their way north in silence while they followed, and they did not even see a darkspawn the entire trip. The storm clouds darkened, thunder grumbling in earnest as the sun's light faded. The occasional distant lightning outlined the clouds and cattails swayed and bowed before the gusting wind as they marched north in weary silence. Alistair moved forward to lead the team and to walk at Morrigan's back. No more did he stop to listen for darkspawn, though he became more and more tense the further they went. Jory followed behind stoically, his broad back right before Mariah. Daveth fell back behind Mariah, but she wasn't sure whether it was to watch her back or get as far away from Morrigan as he could. Mariah, aching and exhausted, was quite relieved when they finally made their way up several hills and stopped at the foot of the highlands. She could see the flickering torches of Ostagar high above them. Morrigan finally spoke, pointing to the rocky hillside. "There is the way to your fortress," she said briefly. Mariah squinted up at the shadowed mountainside, trying to discern the path through the rock.

"She's gone!" Daveth exclaimed.

He was right. When Mariah turned to look, Morrigan had disappeared into the night. No shadows darted between the tree trunks, and she heard no light footsteps disturb the ferns.

"I would think you would be happier with her gone," Jory replied, mild disgust in his voice, "with how you carried on about witches."

Daveth scowled back. "They were witches. We're only lucky they let us live and didn't eat us."

"Try not to be too disappointed," Alistair responded, clasping Daveth's shoulder. "I'm sure there are hordes of darkspawn eager to correct the witches' over-sight, if you'd like."

Daveth frowned at him, and then smiled reluctantly.

"At least this Joining business is over with at last," Jory said, looking to Alistair. Alistair looked back at them, frowned a moment, and started walking up the hill. Jory scowled as he watched the Grey Warden's retreating back. "Isn't it?" he called.

Alistair glanced back briefly. "We need to get moving. We're late as it is."

Mariah trotted up the path until she caught up with Alistair. He kept his eyes down. His posture tensed as she approached. She looked at him a moment, then pursed her lips. "At least say there's no more walking to be done," she implored. "After walking thirty or forty miles through darkspawn and," she glanced back at Daveth mischievously, "witch infested Wilds, my feet would desperately like to know. "

Alistair kept walking, his lips pressed together firmly. After a few moments, Mariah tried once more. "Come now. I'm not asking for details. Will there be more walking? Have mercy on my poor, aching little feet."

He relented with a sigh. "No more walking. The Joining will finish at Ostagar," he said tersely.

There was no humor, sarcasm or even annoyance in his voice, really. He was tense, and growing MORE so as they climbed the path towards the Ostagar's heights. Mariah dropped back to walk with Daveth once more. He tapped his nose and twitched it. Mariah nodded grimly in return. It seemed their day was not over quite yet.


End file.
